You Will Believe A Man Can Fly
by Mummyluvr
Summary: While on a second trip to his father's storage locker, Dean puts on an old Halloween costume that turns out to be much more. The cursed object grants all of the powers of the fabled hero Superman, but for a price. After all, every hero needs a villain.
1. Prologue: And After All, You're My

I'm back! Allow me to let you in on a little secret: I've been dying to write this one since forever. Finally got the chance. Reviews are greatly apprciated.

Title: You Will Believe A Man Can Fly

Summary: Sam decides that his father might have locked away the secret to saving Dean's soul in his locker at Black Rock and drags the older man along for the search. While there, Dean stumbles across an old Halloween costume of their father's that turns out to be much more. Turns out Tom Welling has it easy, because "every hero needs a villain."

Rating: T for language, violence, and some innuendo

Warnings: None

A/N: This is NOT a crossover story. It does, however, make multiple references to _Smallville_. References are also made to the CW's new post-strike schedule, just for fun :)

Spoilers: _Supernatural_ seasons 2 (The Deal) and 3 from BDABR through 'Malleus Malificarum;' _Smallville_ seasons 1-6

Bonus: All chapters are named for lines in songs that either mention Superman or have something to do with this story. 8 different songs are used in all. How many can you identify?

Disclaimer: I don't own _Supernatural_. I don't own _Smallville_. I don't own _Superman_. I don't own _Reaper_. Basically, nothing mentioned in this story but the story itself is mine. I know. It's so sad. 

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**You Will Believe A Man Can Fly**

_Prologue_

_And After All, You're My Wonderwall_

October 31, 1983

Watching his oldest son run down the street, clutching a bag of candy, long red cape trailing out behind him, John had trouble believing that the boy was almost five. Five meant school and teachers and friends and long days away from home. Five meant that his little boy was growing up, wouldn't be so little anymore. One day he would go off to college, get married, have two-point-five kids, a house with a white picket fence, the works.

For the moment, though, Dean was just a spastic four-year-old, his slight depression at the fact that he couldn't share Halloween with his new baby brother all but forgotten in the sugar rush that had recently overtaken him.

The boy jumped up the stairs leading to the latest door and stood on tip-toes to ring the doorbell, stepping back and holding his candy bag out expectantly as the lock was clicked and the tumblers fell back.

Mike Guenther opened the door and gazed down at the boy, a smile on his usually grease-streaked face. "Well," he boomed, reaching into the house to grab a bowl full of candy, "I'll be. It's a bird. It's a plane. It's-"

"Superman!" Dean answered, placing his little hands on his hips and puffing up his chest in an imitation of his favorite superhero.

"Superman," Mike nodded. He looked down the driveway at John, his smile widening, "and his daddy. Well, I'll be, it's the Supers."

"Hey, Mike," John grinned, raising a hand in greeting as he joined his son on his friend's front porch, "how's it going?"

"Going great, Johnny," Mike replied, "getting' a lot of kids this year. Say, speaking of kids, where's your other one?"

"Home with his mother. We didn't want to tucker him out too early."

Mike nodded in agreement. "I like the costumes. You match."

John glanced down at his son and ruffled the boy's hair. "Yeah, well, Dean picked 'em out. He's going through a Superman phase."

"It's not a phase," Dan insisted, "Superman's my favorite. I wanna be him someday and fly all around and save everybody… daddy, what's a phase?"

"A period of time," John answered, "it means that sometimes what people like changes."

"Well, I'm gonna like Superman forever, 'cause he's just like you."

The boy's father raised his eyebrows. "How's that?" He glanced at Mike, who shrugged and held out the bowl of candy to the boy.

"Superman can't die," Dan said simply, taking a piece of candy from the bowl. He thanked Mike and wandered off down the path toward the driveway, swinging his bag at his side as he added his latest treasure to it.

John turned wide eyes toward his friend. "What am I gonna do about that?" It was to soon to have to give the boy the first lesson in the Facts of Life, the one that said that no one was invincible, that parents died. He'd wanted to hold that lesson off for as long as possible.

"Don't sweat it," Mike advised, stowing his candy bowl back in the house, "kids say stuff like that all the time. He'll figure it out on his own eventually, but until then there's no need to rush things. Let him be a kid."

Smiling, the mechanic nodded in agreement. "Guess you're right." He looked down the darkened driveway to where his son stood, hopping impatiently from foot to foot, barely missing stepping on the long cape that trailed behind him. "I should go before he blasts me with his heat vision."

Mike grinned, waving as father and son set off down the street together. Looking down at his boy, John knew that Mike had been right. He needed to let the kid be a kid for as long as he could. There was no need to tell about parental mortality, to reveal the harsh truths of life to him. With luck, he'd never have to learn them.

o0o0o0o0o0o

Two days later, Dean learned. His house, his mother, his childhood, his life as he'd known it went up in smoke. Suddenly, he didn't want to be Superman. He couldn't be. He had to be a dad. And with the transferring of responsibility from father to son on that fateful November night, Dean faced mortality- not just his mother's, but his own.

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Don't worry. The chapters to follow are definitely longer.

So, about those reviews... :)


	2. 1: Only A Man In A Funny Red Sheet

Wow. I honestly didn't expect to get a reponse like that (I was expecting more people LOL!). Glad that you guys are enjoying the story. I'm gonna be honest. I edited this on Sunday, and I probably still missed some things, so please be patient (I do know that Dean is not Dan :D). So, please enjoy this chapter as the story finally takes off!_

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_Chapter 1_

_Only A Man In A Funny Red Sheet_

March 7, 2008

Black Rock, New York, was an innocent little town as far as the casual passer-by was concerned. There was nothing dark there, nothing malicious, nothing to fear. The casual passer-by didn't know what was nestled deep within the town, though. They didn't know what was hidden in the storage locker once owned by John Winchester.

It couldn't be expected for normal folks to know the secrets stashed away in the dark locker. After all, even John's own sons weren't entirely sure what was in there. They wanted to know, though, which was why they'd taken the day off to root through their father's dusty treasures.

"I know what you're thinking," Dean Winchester wheezed, coughing roughly as he pulled a large trunk out from under a pile of old blankets, "and you should give it up."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Sam replied, narrowing his eyes as he carefully inspected a coffin that was sitting on an old work table. The young hunter rapped lightly on each wall of the box with his knuckles, looking for hidden compartments.

"If dad knew how to escape demon deals, don't you think he would have told us?"

"If dad knew I was destined to be the Anti-Christ, don't you think he would have told us?" Sam shot back.

Dean wrenched the trunk lid up, coughing again as a plume of dust sailed into the air and hit him full-force in the face. "He told me," he defended once his hacking fit had tapered off. "Hey, Sammy, what did they call that disease the old miners used to get from working in the coal mines?"

"Black lung?" Sam asked without looking up from the out-of-place casket.

"Yeah, that. Thanks to you and your geeky desire to go through dad's old stuff, I got black lung."

Sam glanced up at that. "You do know that takes years of working in coal mines to get, right?"

Dean shrugged, letting a couple more coughs slip out for effect. "Asthma, then."

"You can't even spell asthma," Sam argued, turning back to his work as his brother began to rummage through the trunk that had, apparently, given him some sort of debilitating respiratory disease.

Glancing up at his brother when he was sure Sam wouldn't see, Dean rifled half-heartedly through the trunk. It felt wrong to go digging through their father's few possessions. John had been such a private person, and Dean figured that there had to be some reason that his father had hidden all of this stuff away in New York.

He wouldn't have even gone out to the old storage shed again if it hadn't been for that damned rabbit's foot and Sam's stubbornness. It seemed to the elder Winchester brother that Murphy's Law applied doubly to his family, and with that kind of luck on their side, Sammy was bound to stumble across something even more dangerous than a very real bad luck charm.

Still, he couldn't help but feel like he was violating his dad's privacy by sifting through the older man's things. It was admittedly cool getting to see what John had kept from their childhood, and Dean had been pleasantly surprised to find not only his first sawed-off, but also a few lopsided Christmas and birthday gifts that had been made by his own small hands.

He shook his head, clearing a layer of dust from his hair, and turned back to his work. The trunk was mostly full of bloody clothing, ripped shirts, old socks- nothing of any importance. He dug a little deeper, past the stained fabric, pretending to be looking for something.

He gasped as his eyes caught a flash of bright red among the more drab colors that his father had chosen to dress the Winchester clan in over the years. Dean's slight motions turned frantic as he attempted to reach the item, afraid it might slip away, might disappear in a puff of smoke, just as his childhood had.

He tore away at the other clothes, sending them flying through the air and into the coffin that Sam was inspect in his desperate attempt to free a cherished memory from his short childhood.

Dean pulled the large, red square of fabric out of the trunk and held it before his eyes, amazed to see that time hadn't changed it. It still looked as new as it had the day he and his father had found it at the costume shop. Before he could even begin to wonder where the rest of the costume was, Dean gained his feet, his knees crackling with protest, and tied the two strings of the musty cape around his neck.

As soon as the old costume was in place he felt something pass through him, as if lightning had stuck, only better. It was a familiar feeling, one that accompanied every hunt, every scare, every adrenalin rush. He was_ invincible_.

Sam spun around, yanking a bloody shirt off of his head. "Dean, care to explain?"

The older man jumped, startled, and felt the heat rise to his face. "Um…"

"Why are you wearing a cape? Where'd you get that?"

"It was dad's," Dean explained hastily, reaching behind his back and grabbing a handful of smooth red cloth, letting it trail comfortingly through his calloused fingers, "he wore it on Halloween… two days before mom died."

All annoyance at being attacked by old clothes faded from Sam's face instantly. "Oh."

"I was obsessed with the Man of Steel," the older man revealed, "and when you're four years old, no one's more invincible than your dad, so I made him buy us matching costumes. We both went as Superman. Last time I ever went Trick or Treating."

"You took me plenty of times," Sam pointed out, turning back to the coffin, wanting to leave his brother alone with the few memories of childhood that they didn't share.

"I _took_ you," Dean clarified, "but I never went up to the houses with you. Couldn't be distracted."

The younger hunter bit his lip. "Right. Sorry."

Dean just shrugged, the cape fluttering with the motion. "Not your fault. So, how do I look?" He struck a pose, standing up straight and tall, his hands placed firmly on his hips.

"Like the runner-up to Tom Welling," Sam said, "now take that off and get back to work. We've got a lot of stuff to sort through."

Sighing, Dean untied the cape from his shoulders. "Fine, but we won't find anything."

"Everything's worth a shot now," Sam pointed out as his brother slid the cape carefully back in the trunk and gently place the old clothes back on top of it, an act of reverence that didn't go unnoticed by the younger man. "Time's running out."

Dean shook his head. He would have said something, if he had been in the mood for another fight, but deemed it too much effort. He felt too good about the world in general at that point to yell at his brother, anyway. Maybe it had been finding the cape, maybe it had been putting on something that his father had once worn with such pride, but something had changed in the older hunter. The end suddenly didn't seem so close, even with Sammy's near-constant reminders. Suddenly, everything seemed to fit. His throat didn't even tickle with the black lung, or asthma, or whatever the hell all that dust had given him. Things were looking good.


	3. 2: And Two Warm Hands Break Right

Thanks for the reviews, guys. i'm hoping to pick up some readers on this one soon to, you know, share the love or whatever. Know anyone who might be interested? Don't keep this gem a secret.

Wow. Now I feel bad for the whole shameless begging and self-promotion thing. To make myself (and you) feel better, here's chapter 2!_

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_Chapter 2_

_And Two Warm Hands Break Right Through Me_

"Damn hinges!" That was the first thing that Sam heard upon entering the motel room that he was sharing with his brother just outside of Black Rock. Actually, it was the same motel he'd been duct taped to a chair in less than a year before. Ah, memories.

The younger Winchester spun around, half expecting to see Dean struggling to push the slightly askew door of the room shut. Instead, his breath caught in his throat and his mouth dropped open in a flawless imitation of a mailbox that someone had forgotten to shut.

Dean was standing in the doorway, holding onto the doorknob and looking into the room at Sam with a mixture of annoyance and shock. The thick wooden door was hovering a couple of inches off the ground, only supported by Dean's single-handed grip on it. It had been completely torn off the hinges.

"What happened?" Sam asked, unable to get much more out of his mouth as his eyes roved over the unusual sight.

Dean shrugged. "I dunno. I was following you into the room, the door started to shut, so I grabbed the knob to pull it back open. It just ripped off. Hinges must've been rusty."

"Isn't it heavy?"

The older man glanced at the door as if really seeing it for the first time, his gaze traveling slowly down the length of the knotty wood to rest on the space between it and the ground. "Not really." He lifted it a little higher, his eyebrows rising with surprise at the ease of the task, "pretty light, actually."

"But, I had trouble pulling it open."

"That's because you're a little girl," Dean replied matter-of-factly, backing himself into the room and attempting to set the door back in its place.

"Funny, Dean," Sam deadpanned, "but I'm serious. It's heavy. Don't you remember the last time we were here? You kinda had trouble with it, too."

"That was a different room. It doesn't count."

"It's a motel. All the doors are the same."

"Not true," Dean insisted, "they each have different numbers."

"Are you frickin' kidding me?"

"Why else would it pop off in my hands, Sam? Huh? Give me an explanation."

Sam just shrugged, unable to find anything that sounded more plausible than rusty hinges. He walked over to the door and leaned down, inspecting the shiny bolts that had once held it in place. Not a sign of rust.

Dean didn't seem to care about those particulars, though. He walked into the room, shedding his jacket and tossing it toward the bed with such force that the zipper actually dented the plaster on the wall.

"Anger management, much?" Sam asked. Dean turned to look at him again, confused, and he pointed out the small hole.

"We need to find another motel," Dean reasoned, "this one's falling apart." He headed toward the bathroom, grabbing onto he doorknob and pulling at it to open the door. This time, the knob broke clean off, coming out of its place in one piece, leaving a large hole in the wood.

"Somehow," Sam gawked, "I don't think it's the motel."

The older man held the doorknob up to eye-level, inspecting it closely. "What the hell?"

"I dunno," Sam said weakly.

"I mean, seriously, what the hell?"

"I dunno," Sam shouted, "maybe… I dunno."

"What, Sammy? What?"

"Just… maybe there's something else going on here, Dean. I mean, we _were_ digging through dad's old stuff today."

"You think I got cursed?"

The younger man shrugged. "I-"

"Because this," Dean interrupted, nodding toward the doorknob, "doesn't seem like much of a curse to me."

"Maybe it's not a curse, then."

"So, what, a gift?"

Sammy shook his head. "I don't know, Dean. It's just weird. I mean, the doors and the wall-"

"It's a crummy motel," Dean insisted, "that's all there is to it."

"Maybe we should go back and take inventory. Call Bobby up and ask him for a history of the stuff. See if there's anything that-"

"What, Sam?" Dean asked with a smile, "ask him if there's anything in there that dishes out superhuman strength?" Sam blushed, much to his brother's pleasure. "I knew it. That's what you think, isn't it? You think I'm Superman or something."

"Well," Sam muttered, averting his eyes and fidgeting, "there _was_ that cape…"

"Dad's old Halloween costume?"

"Maybe it wasn't… I mean, why would he keep that?"

Dean shrugged, feeling slightly offended at the comment. Why wouldn't his dad have kept the costume? It had been vital to their final week before the fire, vital to their normal lives, to their family history. It hurt to think that Sam saw it as something that could be thrown out. Of course, he younger man hadn't been there, hadn't seen the way their father had looked that night, like a real superhero.

"He kept it because he wanted to remember," the older man said softly.

Sam sighed, slumping his shoulders as he realized his misstep. Maybe he'd had his fallings-out with John, and that made it so much harder for him to see the man the way his brother did, through rose-colored glasses. And Dean had looked up to John so much, had stressed so much about his father's final decision and request, that to suggest neglect, even if it had occurred, was a crime in the older man's book.

"Makes sense," Sam shrugged.

Dean swallowed. "It's not a curse," he said, "it's just a crappy room." He headed toward the door, which he had propped up at an awkward angle. "I need some air."

Sam stepped into his path, blocking his brother's escape. "No. We need to find out for sure. We should go back and then call Bobby."

"Do it yourself," Dean suggested, placing a hand on his brother's chest and nudging him gently out of the way. Sam spun roughly and fell down on the closest bed, a look of hurt wonder on his face. "I didn't push you that hard," Dean groaned, rolling his eyes at his brother's act.

"Yes, you did," Sam muttered, pulling down the collar of his shirt to reveal the rapidly darkening bruise that was forming there.

Dean's jaw fell slack as his eyes roved over the black and blue flesh the stood out painfully on his brother's chest. He backed from the room, tripping and stumbling into the door, falling through it with enough force to snap it cleanly in half.


	4. 3: Watch Me Lean And Watch Me Rock

Wow. Thanks for the support, guys. I absolutely love this story and I really want other people to fall in love with it, too. So, uh, enjoy chapter 3, on me, and have a happy Supernatural Thursday!_

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_Chapter 3_

_Watch Me Lean and Watch Me Rock_

Dean ran. He had never really liked running growing up, possibly because his father forced him to run laps for disobedience. He'd felt that it was stupid to simply run in circles, loosing energy without actually getting anywhere.

As he'd grown, he'd found a release in running. It gave him time to think, time to brood, time to work off that excess energy that made him dangerous. And it was an escape. He had enough stamina, built up through years of training, that no one but Sam could keep up with him.

So he ran. He ran and he thought. He thought about what he had done, about what Sam had said. He laughed as the conversation about super strength recurred to him. It was stupid, the idea that he had suddenly developed the ability to rip doors off hinges, to send zippers through walls, to pull doorknobs from their place, to hurt his brother.

The laughter died from his face as he stopped, standing up straight and tall at the roadside as cars whizzed past, their drivers oblivious to his plight. He'd hurt his brother. He'd hurt Sammy, the same man that he'd sold his soul to save, the one that his father had given to him, had told him to raise and take care of without ever saying those words. He'd caused Sam pain.

And he wasn't winded.

Dean blinked, drawing in a deep breath. His lungs didn't burn in protest, his windpipe didn't constrict painfully, his parched mouth didn't even beg for water at the action because it wasn't parched. He'd been running for at least fifteen minutes and it was like he hadn't even moved a muscle.

With another deep breath, Dean set off along the grassy roadside again, his mind turning from what he'd done to the room and his brother to his suddenly increased stamina. He shouldn't have been able to breath so well, not after fifteen minutes of pounding his feet over the uneven terrain.

He willed himself to run faster, to push his limits farther, to see if he could tire himself out, to make himself feel the pain of exhaustion. Anything would be better than the pain of remembering; remembering his father, his final Halloween, his brother's bruise…

The cars sped by faster, meaning that he'd probably entered a stretch f road with a higher speed limit. The cars accelerated until he could no longer tell the make and model of each that he passed, until he could no longer tell that they were cars, until they all blurred together, rushing by faster and faster, becoming one long line of color.

His breath finally hitched, but only because of the shock from the changing of the scenery flying by at a rapidly increasing rate. The blur of passing cars changed from a flashing rainbow to solid green and brown and gray, the color of a rural roadside. That soon gave way to a pristine blue, which flashed past all around him, even under him. His brain barely had time to register the splashing sound of water before the scenery changed again.

Foliage flew by, followed by more water, followed closely by the green and brown fields of beans, corn, and the various other agricultural necessities grown in the Midwestern states.

_Midwestern states?_ Dean's mind screamed at him, pulling him from a fog of confusion and fascination, _water? What the hell, buddy boy?_

With those thoughts prominent in his mind, Dean willed himself to stop. His feet abruptly obeyed, sliding out from under him as the laws of physics caught up with the hunter and pitched him forward under his own momentum. He managed a less-than-graceful face plant in the dirt.

Sputtering, Dean brought his head up off the ground. "How's that for an outside force?" he asked no one in particular, suddenly wishing that Sam could have been there, if for no other reason than to rub his brother's nose in the fact that he _had_, in fact, paid attention in school.

Of course, Dean wasn't entirely sure where _there_ was. Slowly, he climbed to his feet, frowning at the new holes that had worked their way into his shoes, jeans, and shirt upon his sudden stop. He swiped a hand across his face, expecting to find his nose dripping blood, because, well, with an impact like that it should have shattered.

He pulled his hand away and found nothing on it. He glanced down at himself again, quickly assessing the damage, of which there was none. Gulping back his shock and fear, the hunter looked around, wondering if anyone had seen his three-point-landing.

He was surrounded by corn. Blinking rapidly in confusion, Dean stumbled along through the stalks, scrubbing a hand over his face, thinking that maybe it was a bad dream. There was no other explanation, right? It wasn't a common occurrence for people to go for a jog in New York and wind up in a cornfield, after all.

He staggered along, picking his way through the stalks, careful to keep as many intact as possible. Wherever he was, he didn't want to announce his presence, and making a crop circle wouldn't help with the stealth.

Finally, he found his way out of the maze of corn, walking out to the roadside just as a big yellow school bus rumbled by. A gaggle of high schoolers looked out at him. He saw a blonde girl point and laugh while her friend, a young black man, just shook his head.

Looking down the road, he saw a truck coming his way and waved it down. The Ford pulled over and a window rolled down, the drive leaning across the wide passenger seat to get a look at the ragged young man by the roadside.

"Need some help, son?" the man asked.

"I… I think I'm lost," Dean responded slowly, "um, where am I?"

The man in the truck narrowed his eyes, reaching inconspicuously behind him to lock the truck's doors. "Well, son, you're in Kansas. Just outside a tiny little town in the middle of nowhere. Awful small place. If you don't mind my asking, how'd you get here?"

"Kansas?" Dean asked. "I'm in Kansas? You know, dude, I'm not really sure how I got here. You wanna clue me in?"

The truck driver leaned back across his seat, put his vehicle in gear, and sped away. Dean watched him drive off, sighed, and shoved his hands into his pockets. He looked around, at the cornfield behind him, the other one across from him, and the desolate plains that lay beyond both stretches of road. Perfect. How was he supposed to get back to New York?

_Maybe a better question is how you got to Kansas in the first place, genius, _his mind pointed out.

"Kansas _is_ where it all started," Dean thought aloud, beginning to pace around on the side of the road, "maybe something brought me here. But what about the scenery?" He clicked his tongue against his teeth as he paced, stopping his noise-making only to try and wet his freakishly not-dry lips.

He hit a hole in the ground, probably made by a gopher or a chipmunk, and sprawled out flat on the hard-packed dirt, his tongue sandwiching itself between his teeth in what should have been a painful meeting. Instead, the hunter only felt a slight discomfort.

Once again cursing the laws of physics, Dean got to his feet and brushed himself off. He ran his tongue over his teeth once before spitting on the ground. There was no blood.

Running a hand through his hair, Dean started pacing again, this time keeping watch for gopher holes. "Kansas is where it all started," he muttered to himself, "and I was running. And Sam…"

Sam thought he was Superman or something.

"Doesn't tell me how to get home," Dean grumbled, his frustration with the situation growing, "unless I fly." He shuddered at the thought.

No, there had to be some explanation, some reason, some answer. He was starting to think that Sam had a point. Maybe it would be wise to call Bobby, if just to ascertain that he wasn't under some sort of curse brought on by rifling through his father's earthly possessions.

Yeah, he would call Bobby just as soon as he got back to the motel room. Sam was probably getting worried, and Dean wanted to check on that bruise, make sure it didn't hurt too much. He had to get back. The only question was how.

"Of course," he said, stopping his pacing and looking down the road, "there's always the way I came." He started to run.

o0o0o0o0o0o

"Where were you?" Sam demanded as soon as Dean had walked back through the door, which his brother had apparently tried to duct-tape back together, careful not to break anything else.

"I went for a run," the older man shrugged.

"A run?" Sam asked, raising his eyebrows at his brother, "since when do you run?"

"Since I want to clear my head."

"You were gone for over an hour," the younger man said softly, not really in the mood for a fight, not while his chest still throbbed painfully with every movement.

Dean shrugged again. "I…took a little detour. Got kind of lost."

"Where?"

The older hunter smiled dryly. "First, Kansas. Then, I took a wrong turn at Albuquerque and wound up in some crappy little hellhole in Mexico. Turned up in Vancouver after that. Did you know that every show but _Smallville_ had to shut down production because of that writer's strike? It's crazy."

"Dean?"

"Nearly drowned in Lake Huron, if you believe that. Finally made it back here, though."

"Dean, what are you talking about?" Sam asked, his eyes worried. "Did you fall down? Did you hit your head?"

"I'm fine. Better than fine, actually. I ran all that way and never once got out of breath. Stopping's a bitch, though."

Sam blinked, finally taking in his brother's dirty, disheveled, slightly damp appearance. "Dean?"

"Yeah, Sammy?"

"What are you talking about, and what happened to your clothes?"

Dean grinned, flopping down on the bed that he'd claimed as his own hard enough to make it buckle in the middle. "Dammit!"

"Dean?"

"I told you, stopping's not as easy as Tom Welling makes it look."

"Tom Welling?" Sam asked, stepping closer to his brother's bed, "the CW's Superman?"

"The one and only."

"Does that mean what I think it means?" The younger man stepped closer, leaning forward to gaze at his big brother with wide eyes.

"I think you were right," Dean said in a conspiratorial tone, "I think there's something wrong with me."

"What kind of wrong?" Sam asked, suddenly feeling as if he were playing a game of Twenty Questions with his brother, a game that he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to know the outcome of.

"You hungry?" Dean asked suddenly, standing up, a smile spreading across his face.

"Um, kind of. I was waiting for you-"

Dean ran. After so many wrong turns he was starting to get the hang of it, of controlling his speed and direction, of finding his way. It wasn't much of a jog to the local mini-mart for a bagful of snack foods that had a better chance of killing him than any demon did, a bag that the clerk and security cameras didn't even see him take and fill up.

"-to get back." Sam finished, his eyes wide as they spotted the bag in his brother's hands. "Dean?"

"Mini-mart," Dean grinned, "record time."

"Dean?" Sam asked again, his voice considerably quieter than the last time around.

"Don't worry, nobody saw me. Probably only felt a breeze. I'm getting better."

"Better at what?"

His brother's grin widened, and Sam knew the answer before he spoke it. The game of Twenty Questions was done. Was he thinking of superpowers? You betcha.


	5. 4: You Caught Me OffGuard

Before we start, I just want to point out that Dean feels a certain sympathy for abused rabbits... is it too much to assume that someone (The Kripkeeper, perhaps?) read "The Bunny Hop?"

Yeah, I thought so, too. Anyway, enjoy :)

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Chapter 4 

_You Caught Me Off-Guard_

"I don't think this is such a good idea," Sam muttered as he stood outside the crowded bar with his brother.

"Stop yelling," Dean ordered, "I know you think it's stupid. I know you think that we should call Bobby and find out what's going on. The thing is, though, you don't want to make Bobby mad, and given the time zone difference and the current darkness, he's probably asleep or trying to get there. It's best not to wake him."

"I wasn't yelling," Sam replied, following his brother into the bar, "and we can wait until tomorrow to call. I just don't think it's a good idea for you to be waltzing around given your…_condition._"

"My _condition_?" Dean asked, scoping out the bar for any hot chicks or easy hustles, "and what, _exactly_, might that be, Geek Wonder?"

Sam shrugged. "Well, I guess you kind of developed superpowers."

"You guess? What part of ripping the door off its hinges and traveling across the continent in an hour leaves room for guessing?"

"We don't know if that's all you can do," Sam reasoned, trailing behind his brother as the older man headed to a booth in the back and sat down, "and we're not even entirely sure if there are any limitations involved in this."

"Like?"

"Like, for all we know, each time you… you know, whatever it is that you do, you're sapping your energy or life-force or whatever and slowly killing yourself."

"Or maybe each time I… _you know_, I'm just being totally awesome and you're jealous." Sam glared at him, but Dean honestly couldn't see his brother's reluctance to join in the party. In the older hunter's book, it didn't get much cooler than developing super-human powers, and, although Sam had had his own special taste of being special, Dean was new to the whole thing, and was loving every minute of it. Besides, it wasn't his fault if he got super strength and speed and Sam got death visions. It was out of his hands.

"I'm not jealous, Dean. It's a curse. It's gotta be a curse."

"Then show me the downside, Sammy, because I'm drawing a blank on the consequences."

Sam opened his mouth to answer, but didn't get the chance as worry for his brother overcame any and all snaky retorts. The smile that had been permanently etched on Dean's face since his triumphant return from Canada fell from his handsome features in an instant as his hands flew up to his ears and he slammed his head down on the scuffed table with enough force to crack the wood.

"What is it?" Sammy asked, sliding from his place across the table from his brother to sit beside the older man and placing a reassuring, yet nervous, hand on Dean's back. He was completely unaware that the concern he had voiced only added to the problem.

If Dean had been able to find it in himself to reply to Sam's question, said response would have been laced with words and phrases that would embarrass even the dirtiest-mouthed of all sailors, yet still would not have been able to aptly describe the pain that had invaded his mind as the volume in the bar had been cranked up to a level that no mere mortal would have been able to handle. Instead, all he was able to manage was a soft moan, one that was amplified to a horrible level as it reached his ears.

"Dean?" Sam asked again, louder this time, unsure that his brother had heard his first attempt to assess the situation, unaware that Dean had, in fact heard every word, every breath, every twangy note, every crunch, every sip, every_thing_ that had happened in the bar at that exact moment.

"Whisper," Dean choked out, turning pained eyes up to his brother.

"What?" Sam asked, finally lowering his voice, "you want me to whisper?"

Dean nodded slowly, the sharp ache in his head protesting every movement, every sound, every scuffle, every breath. "Too loud." His hands were a weak defense against the onslaught of sounds, the cacophony whirling through his head.

Something like realization dawned in Sam's eyes, and before Dean could protest, the younger man had pulled his brother from the booth and slung one of the older man's arms over his own shoulder. He wrapped his arm protectively around Dean's back and led the other hunter out of the bar and into the quiet night.

Well, it seemed quiet to Sam, at least. To Dean, it was no better than the bar. The bugs whirring through the air, the sound of cars speeding past in the distance, even the wind rustling through the trees was enough to make him go crazy.

Fortunately, Sam had a better handle on the problem than Dean did, and, thinking it best to leave the car in the bar parking lot, began the slow and laborious walk back to the motel room.

Dean stopped him before they even left the lot, though. He absolutely refused to leave his baby behind, even if the sound of her engine alone would have made his ears bleed.

"We're not taking the car," Sam argued in a whisper, realizing too late that his mouth was right beside his brother's ear. Dean flinched away from the sound with enough force to nearly send Sam toppling down to the ground.

"Do you have any idea how stubborn you are?" Sam demanded, turning away from his brother to whisper his discontent. Dean reached up weakly and grabbed Sam's chin with his hand, obviously being careful not to use too much force. He turned his brother's head around and gave him a look that clearly meant that he understood the problem, but wasn't about walk back to the motel and leave his precious Impala to face the elements alone.

"It's quieter out here, though," Sam argued.

Dean shook his head. "Still loud," he muttered, wincing at the grating sound of his own voice as it hit his ears, "out here."

Sam looked around, eager to find the source of the noise that was irritating his brother and make it disappear. It was then that he noticed the crickets, the cars, the dry leaves crackling across the pavement. "It's better than the bar or that boat you drive," he insisted, again turning away to whisper, "so I don't know what you want to do."

"Fix it," Dean moaned through gritted teeth, "please."

Sam, who had been about to kindly point out to his brother that he had told him so, softened at the desperate tone in Dean's voice. Anything was worth a try.

"Ok," he attempted quietly, "I've got an idea." Dean nodded. "Just listen to my voice. Tune out everything else, all the bugs, the cars, the wind, everything. Listen to me." Dean closed his eyes with the effort. "Remember when we were kids and we used to read all those old comics? We'd just go to the drug stores in the Podunk little towns and stay for hours reading, remember that?" Dean nodded. "And you liked Batman best because he didn't have any powers."

Dean nodded again, gulping back the lump that had formed in his throat with the recollection of those memories. Before his mom had died, before his dad had changed, before Sam had become more like a son to him than a brother, Dean had loved Superman. Who didn't want to be able to run faster than a speeding bullet, leap tall buildings in a single bound, be stronger than a locomotive, and get mistaken for birds and planes?

After his mother's death, though, Dean had changed. Superpowers weren't cool, anymore. There were no heroes looking out for the little guy. There were only normal people who did something about injustice, who suffered greatly, who lost their loved ones and went on the offensive. John had been one of those people. Dean was one of those people.

"But I liked Superman," Sam continued, turning his face slowly back toward his brother, "I felt different than everyone else, just like Clark Kent. I was a freak, I guess. I told you that and you just laughed."

Dean smiled at the memory. He found it easy to focus on Sam; after all, he'd always focused on Sam. It was his job, to take care of his pain-in-the-ass little brother. He honed in on Sammy's voice, and the world seemed to fade away. Every bug, every gust of wind, every speeder flying down the highway. Even the sound of the police sirens as the speeder fell into a carefully-set trap didn't bother him. He just focused on his brother's voice.

"You said," Sam began, a little louder, now looking at his brother as the older man opened his eyes.

"I said," Dean grinned, "that there aren't any freaks among freaks. You're in good company, Geek Boy."

"I'll say, Supes," Sam replied with a wide smile, "come on, let's go home."


	6. 5: I Feel Like A Hero

Here's to the weekend and picking up new readers. Enjoy!_

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_Chapter 5_

_I Feel Like A Hero_

The scenery flashed by outside the windows of the Impala. Dean was fighting off a headache, which had sprung from his trip to the bar. He was more than happy to let Sam drive back to the motel room while he leaned back in the seat and watched what counted as rural New York fly by.

He gazed out the window, his eyes not really seeing what was flashing past. A few houses parted the trees and brush as the car sped down the road. Out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw a slight shift, a small change in the scenery, and focused his attention on it.

"Sammy, stop the car," he commanded, squinting between the trees to see what looked like the silhouette of a house. By looking closer, he could almost make out the form of a human struggling with something in the far-of driveway.

Suddenly, it was as if someone had hit the zoom button on a camera, and Dean was looking through the lense. Everything suddenly came into focus with startling clarity. A woman was standing out in the driveway of the house, trying unsuccessfully to lug a couch up the front steps that led to the door. She was blonde, in her mid-thirties, and well-built. She had bright blue eyes, pierced ears, and needed to wax her upper lip, although it wasn't as noticeable as it could have been.

"Hey, Sam," Dean said, blinking as he turned toward his brother and finding that whatever had happened to his vision had stopped, "look at that house. What do you see?"

Sam leaned toward the wheel to see past his brother and into the line of trees. "Looks like a person. Might just be a trick of the light, though."

"She needs help," Dean muttered, getting out of the car and walking toward the house. Behind him, he could hear Sam pulling the car over onto the gravel shoulder of the road, could hear his brother's footsteps, could hear every breath. He closed his eyes as the sound of gravel under his feet intensified, blocked out everything.

By the time he got to the house, Dean's hearing was back to normal, and the woman struggling with her couch looked very shocked to see him.

"Need some help, Ma'am?" the hunter asked, surprised by the woman's good looks, and happy to find that, unless his eyes were in Zoom Mode, the hair on her upper lip wasn't even noticeable.

She blinked up at him, taking a shaky step back. "Um…"

"It's ok," he smiled, holding up his hands to show that he had no weapons, "just a good Samaritan."

This seemed to put the woman at ease, as she smiled and relaxed, taking a step back toward him. "Actually, I could use some help," she admitted, "I just moved in and I bought furniture that won't even move up the driveway, let alone the stairs."

Dean grinned. "Well, maybe I can help you with that." He walked around to the other end of the couch, glancing up at the road to see Sam giving him a warning glance. "On three?"

The woman nodded. "One…"

"Two…"

"Three!" they said together, lifting the couch simultaneously. Dean made sure to angle it a bit, ensuring that the woman wouldn't have to do much work. She seemed surprised at how easy it was to lift the heavy piece of furniture.

Together, the pair moved the couch up the stairs and into the house, where Dean helped her place it carefully against one wall, facing a television that she'd placed earlier that day.

"Thank you so much," the woman gushed as they walked back out of the house together, "that was the last big piece and I wasn't sure that I could make it through."

"No problem, miss," Dean grinned, waving good-bye as he headed back toward the road and his brother. He reached Sam and his smile widened.

"What, she didn't invite you in for tea and sex?" Sam asked, raising an eyebrow.

"If she had," Dean replied, "do you really think I'd be out here talking to you right now?" he looked longingly back at the house, watching the woman walk inside and up to her bedroom. She closed the bedroom door and grabbed the bottom of her shirt, starting to lift it up over her head. "Dude, are you seeing this?"

"Seeing what?"

Dean turned to give his brother and incredulous stare, unable to believe that Sam was missing the peep show taking place before them. "Seriously? The chick is stripping in front of a window."

Sam squinted up at the house. "All the curtains are drawn, Dean."

The older man followed his brother's gaze. "What the hell?" he asked, finding brick walls and drawn shades where a nearly-naked woman had once stood. "But I know I saw her. She was right there."

"Maybe," Sam ventured as they turned back to the road and the car, "you saw through the wall."

Dean stopped in his tracks and stared at the younger man. "Come again?"

Sammy shrugged. "I dunno, but it makes sense, doesn't it? I mean, the strength and speed, the hearing, telescopic vision-"

"What?"

"You knew that woman needed help. And then you went all pervert on me. Does that particular list of powers sound familiar to you?"

Dean shook his head, stepping past his brother as he continued on his way to the car. "Not this again, Sammy."

"What's so farfetched about it, Dean?"

"Oh, I dunno, how about the part where you think I'm Superman? Yeah, that seems a little unusual to me."

"But the cape-"

"Dad's old costume," Dean reasoned as he reached the Impala and leaned against the hood of the car.

"What if it wasn't? What if it was something else? What if this is just the tip of the iceberg. Dean, what if you can _fly_?"

"What if you can _shut up_?" the older man mocked.

"Why is this so unbelievable?" Sammy asked, "after everything we've ever come up against, after everything that's happened to us-"

"If dad had a cape that could make him invincible, don't you think he'd wear it? Don't you think he'd take the danger out of everything? Why would he keep that from us? Why would he make himself vulnerable to every monster, demon, ghost, and goblin out there? No. There's some other explanation."

Sam sighed. "But what if I'm right? What if you're like Superman now?"

"If I was Superman," the older man said, "then I could do this." He stared down at his brother's sneakers, narrowing his eyes and concentrating. It was the classic superhero prank, shown countless times in comedy movies mostly aired on the Disney channel.

He blinked a couple of times as his eyes began to burn, rubbing at them with his hands, trying to stop the pain.

"Dean?" Sam asked as his brother shook his head, trying to clear the burning sensation from his eyes. He was still looking toward Sam's shoes, but the younger man wasn't about to let him keep on staring, not if something was wrong.

He tried to step toward his brother, but found himself unable to move. His shoes had been glued to the gravel at the side of the road, melted into it, sticking him firmly in place.

"Dean," Sam whispered, getting his brother's attention.

Dean shut his eyes tight before looking up at Sam, and the younger hunter could have sworn he'd seen a flash of red dart across the usual hazel of his brother's gaze. "Yeah?"

"What did you do?"

Dean shook his head. "Got something in my eyes."

"I can't move."

The older man glanced back down at his brother's shoes and smiled as he saw the melted black goo that had molded itself to the gravel shoulder.

"Hey," Dean shrugged, "at least you didn't lose 'em."

"Very funny," Sam growled, "_Clark_. Now help me out."

"You kidding me? After comparing me to _that_ geeky alter-ego, you can help yourself." He grinned. "See you back at the motel, Sam." And with that, he was gone.


	7. 6: You Can All Sleep Sound Tonight

Whoo! All right. I'm back with another chapter, and things are finally going to start falling into place. Please enjoy this as my gift to all the faithful reviewers, who I love :)_

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_Chapter 6_

_You Can All Sleep Sound Tonight_

Sam missed his shoes. He had just gotten those sneakers, and he had been looking forward to wearing them for a good, long time. Unfortunately, Dean had had a different idea, and his brand new shoes had been melted to the shoulder of a road in New York. That had _definitely_ not been part of Sam's Master Shoe Plan.

Even worse, it seemed that Dean had inadvertently added another ability to his ever-increasing repertoire, and it was driving his brother nuts. Sam winced as he heard another chunk of plaster drop from the ceiling onto his brother's bed.

He tried rolling over in his bed, but that only increased his uneasiness with the situation. Instead of feeling his brother's hot breath blowing across his face, it was now blowing across his neck, down his back, and, creepily enough, kinda turning him on.

With a groan, Sam rolled himself out of bed, glancing over his shoulder at his brother. Dean seemed totally oblivious as to the development of his newly acquired super breath. Unfortunately, Sam_ wasn't_ oblivious.

Grumbling to himself, he shuffled across the room to the dresser, where he'd set his cell phone before trying to get some sleep. It was early, and he was hoping Bobby was already up. In truth, he was starting to get concerned. What was happening to Dean obviously wasn't natural, and with their luck it wasn't good, either.

He slipped silently out of the room and clicked his phone on, dialing the number he had learned so many years ago. He listened with bated breath as the phone rang, snapping his fingers nervously at his side as he waited for Bobby to answer.

After the fourth ring, Bobby answered, sounding sleepy. "What is it?" the older hunter demanded gruffly.

"It's Sam," the younger man said, shifting from foot to foot and glancing over his shoulder, as if he could stop Dean from overhearing his conversation.

"Sam?" Bobby asked, "what's wrong?"

"It's Dean. We're in Black Rock, and I wanted to look through dad's old storage locker-"

"I already don't like where this going," Bobby moaned.

"Well, we were looking through his stuff," Sam continued, suddenly feeling as if anything bad that was going to happen to Dean was his own fault. "And Dean found this cape-"

"Don't tell me."

"He thought it was an old Halloween costume of dad's," Sammy explained, "and he-"

"Put it on? Dammit, Sam, I thought after everything that's happened to you two over the past few months, you'd learn to keep a better eye on him!"

"I take it it's not a Halloween costume, then?"

Bobby sighed. "Oh, it's a costume, all right, from the original _Superman_ set."

"Like, Christopher Reeve?"

"Like George Reeves," Bobby clarified.

"The one that committed suicide?"

"The one and only," the older man sighed. He sounded more than tired- he sounded bone-weary.

"Well, why was it in dad's locker?"

"It was cursed. Cursed by its Hollywood history, if you'll believe that."

"What kind of curse?" Sam asked, dreading what he would hear.

"Whoever puts on the cape gets all the powers of Superman himself," Bobby explained, "has Dean…?"

"Everything but flight," Sam nodded. "Yeah. And what we're having trouble figuring out is, how is this a curse? I mean, he's invincible. He's strong and fast and a bit of a peeping tom. It's more of gift to him, really."

"But there's a downside."

"Isn't there always?"

Bobby sighed. "Sam, your brother's a hero now, right?"

"Sure, but he's always been-"

"And every hero needs a villain. Superman had Lex Luthor, Batman had the Joker, Spiderman had the Green Goblin. It's tradition. It provides conflict."

"What are you saying, Bobby?"

"I'm saying that as soon as your brother put on that cape he set into motion a series of events to rival even the latest box office smash. He made himself a hero, but he made someone else in the world a villain."

"Who?"

"Impossible to tell," Bobby said slowly, "but the last time your daddy and I dealt with this thing, before we locked it up in Black Rock, the villain followed the pattern of the latest Superman movie."

"So, whoever it is will probably use the more recent addition to the mythology to plot whatever he's gonna do?"

"It's possible," the older man agreed, "but not definite."

"Well, he'll come after Dean, won't he?"

"Not necessarily. The last guy to put on the cape lived in Iowa. His villain popped up in Michigan. He was easily corruptible and wanted to be on top. He was the perfect Luthor. He didn't even know about our Superman."

"Bobby," Sam said, "the latest addition to the Superman story is that new movie, the one with Brandon Routh. Did you see that?"

"Sorry, Sam. Don't see a lot of movies."

"Well, can we fix it?"

"Burning the cape using the same ritual you did for that rabbit's foot should work," Bobby reasoned, "it would strip Dean of those powers and change the villain back into an ordinary person. In theory, at least."

"Theory's all we've got," Sam admitted, "thanks, Bobby."

He could hear the slight smile in his friend's voice. "No problem, Sam. You take care of your brother, now. Keep him from trying to leap any tall buildings, all right?"

"Will do." He hung up the phone and headed back inside to find Dean sitting up in bed, brushing plaster off himself.

"So," the older man said slowly, "Bobby wants you to end my fun before it even begins? Not very fair, is it?"

"You heard that?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Duh." He climbed out of his bed and stretched. "You were wrong, you know."

"I was?" Sam asked, confused.

"Yeah. The new _Superman_ movie might seem like the most recent installment of the series, but you're overlooking the on-going adventures of Clark Kent's hot cousin and even hotter girlfriend on the CW. I hear Clark makes an appearance on the show, too, sometimes."

"So, you're saying that…?"

Dean sighed. "I think our Lex is gonna mimic theirs. Friend turned foe." He looked up at the ceiling. "What the hell happened here last night?"


	8. 7: Nope, You Can't Do It Like Me

Hey guys. Sory it took so long (for me, anyway) to update. Thanks for the reviews and constructive criticism. I've got to say, you folks are coming up with ideas I never considered, which makes me sad becuase the story's already done :(

However, I hope that it's good enough to keep you all interested. I've definitely got a few curveballs up my sleeves, so stay tuned!_

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_Chapter 7_

_Nope, You Can't Do It Like Me_

"Maybe it's Bobby," Dean suggested, shoving his hands into his pockets as he followed Sam down the street, "maybe he was lying about the cape."

Sam shook his head, glancing down at the map he'd printed off earlier that day. The brothers were heading to the local comic shop to brush up on their superhero and villain lore, figuring that chatting up whatever geek was currently behind the counter would be easier than scouring the internet for anything useful. "Or maybe you're wrong and this guy, whoever he may be, is gonna try to take over the world."

"What if it's not a guy," Dean suggested, "what if it's Ellen or Jo or Bela?"

"Bela's not our friend, Dean, she shot me."

"Then explain to me how she got my phone number."

The younger man shrugged. "Maybe she stole your business card from your pocket."

"Very funny. But I'm being serious for once, Sam. It could be anyone."

"All the more reason to burn the cape."

"Then why are we going to the comic shop?" Dean asked.

"Because you might be right about Bobby. If he is the villain, then he might tell us to burn the cape, knowing full well that it won't change anything."

"And we wouldn't want to pull a Bela."

"A what?"

"You know, destroying the only thing that can save us because we were stupid and rushed into things. Bela."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Getting a little obsessive about the Brits, here, aren't we, Dean?"

The older man shrugged. "Evil is evil."

"Which is exactly why we need to know what we're up against. I just figure that a fan would be the best one to tell us."

Dean nodded. "Why the comic shop, though? I mean, only total geeks hang out there, and totally geeks don't watch much TV unless it's animated and from Japan, right?"

"Not true," Sam argued, "geeks aren't the only ones that hang out in comic shops. I saw a priest at one once. He was talking to the clerk about that CW show about the psychic demon hunter."

"_Reaper?_"

"No, the other one. The good one."

"Oh." Dean glanced over at the map, wondering how far away the stupid comic shop was, when he realized something. "You went to a comic shop?"

Sam stopped in his tracks and ducked his head, trying to hide the color that had flushed to his face. "Well, you know… one of my friends at Stanford was sick and the latest issue was coming out, and he asked me to-"

Dean laughed. "Guess I was right about you after all, Sammy. Geek Boy's a perfect nickname."

Sam grumbled something about not being the reason they were going geek hunting in the first place and continued down the street with Dean tagging close behind. They walked in comfortable silence for a while, just listening to the noises of the bustling little town, the sound of children playing in the streets, of cars rolling past, of birds chirping, of a little old lady screaming in a panic as a mugger ran off with her purse.

Wait…

The brothers stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, turning to each other with raised eyebrows. Dean opened his mouth to say something as the apparent mugger, a man wearing ragged clothes, with an even more tattered bandana over his gaunt face, ran between them, nearly knocking Sam over. The old woman he'd robbed panted up to the boys, begging them to stop the man, who had already disappeared around a corner.

With no other choice, Sam turned to his brother and nodded. Dean grinned, and seemed to disappear from sight. "Come on, ma'am," Sam said, gently wrapping an arm around the much smaller woman and leading her slowly down the sidewalk, "let's go get that purse back."

o0o0o0o0o0o

It was surprisingly easy to catch up with the thief. It was even easier to knock him down. He fell hard on the concrete as Dean slammed into him, sending the man sprawling, the purse flying from his grip and skidding to a stop in front of a darkened gardening shop.

The thief tried to crawl toward the purse, but, of course, Dean got there faster. The startled man looked up at the hero, then back over his shoulder at the spot of concrete Dean had occupied before the thief had blinked, then back again.

"How?" he asked, struggling to his scraped and bleeding knees, his ragged bandana slipping from his face.

"The light from the Earth's yellow sun," Dean replied sarcastically as the man shakily gained his feet. Without warning, the would-be thief lunged at the purse, catching the hunter, who had thought his job was through, off-guard.

With the woman's purse once again held firmly in his grasp, the thief turned back the way he'd come and ran for it. Rolling his eyes at what he saw as a weak attempt to escape punishment, Dean grabbed the closest thing he could find- a garden hoe that had been leaning against the wall of the store- and gave chase.

Once again, Dean was able to easily catch up with the man, who was stumbling along the sidewalk, cursing his skinned knees. The hunter slowed instantly and kept pace with the older, thinner man.

"Whatcha doing?" Dean asked. The man nearly fell over as he turned and saw the good Samaritan that he'd thought he'd left behind. Before he had a chance to react, Dean brought the garden hoe down on the thief's head, snapping it cleanly into two pieces and sending the disheveled crook back to the sidewalk, where he stayed.

As Dean was bending down to pick up the purse, Sam and the old woman came slowly around the corner, the younger hunter adjusting his pace to match the smaller woman's shorter steps.

"Dude, you missed it!" Dean gushed as he handed the purse back to the woman, who thanked him and began digging in her purse. Sam ignored his brother's excited expression and pulled out his cell phone, dialing 911 to report the injured thief to the authorities.

"This is for a job well-done," the older woman said in a crackling voice as she extracted an item from her purse and plopped it into Dean's hand. He looked down and smiled at the piece of hard candy. "No problem," he said, shoving the food into his pocket, "now, stay here until the cops come, all right. They should be here soon."

"How can you be sure he won't wake up first?" the woman asked.

"I can hear the sirens," Dean grinned, glancing over at Sam, "and I hit this guy pretty hard." The old lady nodded slowly, as if she didn't quite believe him. "You behave yourself, now," he cautioned her as he headed off down the sidewalk, grabbing Sam and pulling him along.

"We should stay with her," Sam argued, struggling futilely to escape his brother's grip.

"Not with an APB out on me," Dean pointed out, "besides, that guy's down for the count. I mean, did you _see_ me Superman that hoe?"

"Thankfully," Sam muttered, "no."

Dean shook his head. "Man, that was awesome. And it just felt… right. You know?"

Sam glanced at his brother, worry in his eyes. "Of course it felt right, Dean. It was the right thing to do. Any good person would have done that."

"No, not that. Not _what _I did. The _way_ I did it. It was like I was supposed to do it, just like that, with the speed and the strength. Like it's-"

"Like it's a curse, Dean," Sam reminded him, "like it's not right, or natural, or even benefiting society."

"But-"

"Look, I get it. You've got superpowers, and that's cool. And it's gonna keep being cool until people start dying. People are gonna die because of you unless we find a way to fix this."

Dean sighed, his bubble completely burst. "So, what, we burn the cape and hope it goes away?"

"No, we start at the beginning." The boys stopped walking and looked up at the space-age lettering on the sign that hung above them.

Dean cracked a smile. "Cute, Sam."

"What?" the younger man asked as he headed into the comic shop.

"_Smallville_," Dean elaborated, "_beginning_. It's the origin story, right?"

Sam just rolled his eyes, looking around the store. Old posters with superhero logos were hung around the room, curling up at the edges and yellowed with age. There were shelves of comic books stacked against every wall and standing up in the middle of the shop, creating narrow aisles. A large assortment of action figures was displayed in a glass case that stood by the door, looming ominously over the brothers as they stood in the doorway.

"'Origins?'" the woman standing behind the counter asked, attracting the Winchesters' attention. "Sorry, but you're outta luck. Some teenage girl picked up the last copy about an hour ago. You should be able to find it online, though."

"Um," Dean stammered, taken aback by the young woman's looks, the way her eyes sparkled and her dark hair cascaded effortlessly down her back, "I'm sorry?"

"The 'Origins' series," she repeated, "it's selling better than that joke of a network that produces the show ever could have imagined. We sell out pretty quick when we get new issues in."

"Oh, we're not comic buyers," Sam said hastily, stepping between his brother and the pretty young clerk, who was under great scrutiny by the older man.

"Ah, dude," Dean gagged, turning quickly away from his brother's back and confirming Sam's theory about what Dean would do with x-ray vision.

"We just had a quick question," Sam continued, grinning wryly at his brother's displeasure, "and we thought that someone here might be able to answer it."

"Well, I can try," the woman smiled, "I'm Jen, by the way."

"Sam," the younger hunter replied, "and this is-"

"Dean," the hero grinned, popping out from behind his brother with a wide smile and disturbed eyes, "nice to meet you."

"And what was your question?" Jen asked, apparently unmoved by Dean's heroic good looks and subtle advances.

"Do you watch _Smallville_?"

"Working here, how could I not? Actually, Thursday night is the only TV time I look forward to in the week."

"_Grey's _fan?"

"Do I look like someone who would enjoy watching McHorny and McSlutty get it on in the ER every week? No, I stick to the CW. _Smallville_ and the show after it."

Dean nodded. "_Reaper_?"

"No. The other one. The good one. The one they got rid of."

"Couldn't have been that good if they got rid of it."

Jen frowned. "Says you and every other potential convert in the world."

Sam sighed, tiring easily of the pointless small talk. "We want to know about _Smallville_. Lex, in particular."

Dean shot his brother an angry glance, but Jen just smiled. "Right, sorry. I can get off-track sometimes. Um, Lex. Well, is there anything special you want to know, or jut a general overview."

"He's a bad guy in the show, right?" Dean asked.

"Well, now he is."

"What do you mean?" Sam questioned.

"He was Clark's good friend until the end of season 3. That was when Clark found out that Lex had been researching him. Things went downhill from there."

"Then Lex started killing people?"

Jen shook her head. "Not really. If it's murders you're looking for in the show- the heartless, cold-blooded type, anyway- then you'd be better off asking me about Lionel or Jason."

"Lionel or Jason?" Dean asked.

"Lionel Luthor is Lex's dad. They've got that whole 'like father, like son' thing going. Jason was Lana's boyfriend in season 4. He was one of those characters that didn't quite work out as the boy next door, so he turned evil halfway through his run. Got a lot hotter after that, if you ask me."

"And they killed people?"

The woman nodded. "Lionel's pretty badass, and Jason was a psycho mama's boy. Yeah, they racked up a body count."

"But now that Lex is evil…?" Sam asked.

"The things he does are still fairly defendable, when it comes to death," Jen explained, "he's got the whole 'making the world a better place' defense on his side. Really, _Smallville _started asking the same question that other show does, only in a shallower, easier to swallow way."

"And what's that?"

Jen looked into Sam's eyes, as if she were looking into his soul, seeing what was hidden there, the dark blood that coursed through his veins, the evil secrets that he hid. "Does the end really justify the means? Just how far into that darkness are you willing to go if it means saving someone that you love?" He could have sworn he saw a twinkle in her eye and his heart skipped a beat. "What if you save that person, but you went too far in? What if you can't get out?"

"What do you mean?" Sam asked nervously, wondering if he should check her for possession and wishing that he had thought to bring holy water with him on the trip.

"I mean," she sighed, tearing her eyes from his, "that Lex is experimenting with meteor rocks to try and save the world, to create super powered soldiers so that wars are easier to win. He wants to make the world a better place, and if people wind up dead,

then so what?"

Dean nodded. "Great, a villain with a sense of righteousness."

"He had to turn evil sometime," Jen shrugged. "So, is there anything else I can help you boys with?"

"No," Sam said, "thanks, but I think that's all."

"Glad I could help," she smiled, waving at the brothers as they took their leave. They walked down the street a couple of blocks before Sam opened his mouth to voice his concern about what the pretty clerk had said, but Dean cut him off.

"Tell me you brought a knife or something with you."

Sam blinked. "What?"

"I need a knife."

"Why?"

"I want to gouge my eyes out."

The younger man grinned. "I knew you were checking her out. That's disgusting."

"Not as disgusting as your ass. Now give me a knife."

"Don't have one. Besides, it's not like you could do anything but break it, given your current condition and all. If you want to blind yourself, you're gonna have to wait until after we burn the cape."

Dean moaned. "Great. What about our villain, though? Think it's Bobby?"

Sammy shook his head. "Not anymore. That girl in there seemed a more likely suspect."

"Any reason, other than the fact that she was checking you out, so she must be deranged?"

"Some of the things she said just sat wrong with me."

Dean cocked an eyebrow. "You sure that's not the breakfast burrito you had before we left this morning?"

"I'm sure, Dean. There's something off about that girl."

"Maybe it's the obsession. I hear chicks obsessed with TV shows are pretty dangerous. You don't want to piss 'em off."

Sam shook his head again. "I dunno. I think we should try to keep an eye on her."

"Fine," Dean shrugged, "we'll watch her. Just keep out of my line of sight."

* * *

I actually have a pretty funny story involving myself, the sixth issue of "Origins," a priest, and "Houses of the Holy." I totally fangirled out at the local Krypton Comics, and the only way to redeem myself and not seem like a totaly nosy stalker-ish type was to hold up my purchase for al to see. I'm a proud fan. 


	9. 8: I'm More Than A Bird, I'm More Than A

Um, sorry about the slight dealy. Busy weekend. Anyway, thansk for the reviews and comments, and here's chapter 8!_

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_Chapter 8_

_I'm More Than A Bird, I'm More Than A Plane_

"I'm just saying," Sam argued as he sat on the broken-down bed, the one he'd forced Dean to use the night before, and flipped channels on the black-and-white TV, "that it would be easier to follow that Jen girl if you just-"

"But I can't stand to fly!"

Sam snorted. "I'm not that naïve. It's not that you can't stand it, it's that you're scared. The fearless Dean Winchester brought to his knees by a little airtime."

"We've been over this," Dean said, turning from the laptop to glare at his brother. "Planes crash."

"But-"

"_People_ tend to crash more easily. If man were meant to fly, we'd all have wings."

Sam cocked an eyebrow, turning back to the television. "Yeah, Dean. Whatever." He turned up the volume, a story on the nightly news catching his eye. He looked back at his brother to find that the level of noise from the television had captured the older man's attention.

An attractive female reporter was standing inside a large building with white walls and an odd assortment of old wooden furniture, fading paintings, and other odds and ends scattered about.

"I'm here at the Black Rock Auction House," the reporter announced to her faithful audience, "which is currently without a proprietor. Eric Nitham went missing late last night. The hardworking husband and father of two phoned his wife to announce that he would be working late, but never went home. Mrs. Nitham called police early this morning. The first officers on the scene found the front window broken open and blood at the scene. If you have any information, please call-"

Sam clicked off the television and turned a meaningful gaze toward his brother. "Bit of a coincidence, isn't it?"

"What?" Dean asked.

"That man disappearing."

"Sam, this is New York-"

"It's _Black Rock_. It's a small town. There's nothing to do or see for miles. That man was kidnapped the night you put that cape on."

"You saying it's my fault some psycho decided to break into an antique shop?"

"I'm saying that the mood might not have moved the guy if he weren't being influenced by forces beyond his control," Sam said, "forces that _you_ set into motion."

Dean scowled. "I thought you said it was Jen."

Sam stood up and grabbed his jacket off the bed, heading toward the door. "If you're too scared to follow this chick, then I will. Look up everything you can find on _Smallville_ while I'm gone." He slammed the door, sending the loose piece of wood sliding down the doorframe and into the room.

Dean sighed and turned back to the computer screen. It wasn't necessarily that what he was doing wasn't _fascinating_, but he was tired of flipping through endless numbers of messages on fan-made websites about how Clark and Lana were the OTP (whatever the Hell _that_ meant). No, wait, maybe it was Lois and Clark. Uh-uh. Clark and Lex. You could see it in their _eyes_.

Not to mention the discussion of what Dean, as an old-school _Dukes of Hazzard _fan, had termed "The Season of the Clones." Even Meteor Boy (whoever the Hell _that_ was) was coming back, albeit in a flashback.

It was exhausting. More than exhausting, actually. He could actually feel his brain cells dying slow, painful deaths.

As if that wasn't enough, Sam's words kept ringing in his ears. It was all his fault. If he hadn't been his usual, stupid, impulsive self, then some random small-town guy might never had been kidnapped. Or worse. And it might be easier to track down the kidnapper (or worse) if he wasn't such a chicken.

So, taking a deep breath, Dean made up his mind. If countless men strapped into harnesses could do it, then why couldn't he? Maybe because he was harness-less. Yeah, that particular thought didn't help.

Taking another deep breath, Dean logged off and stood up on shaky legs, crossing the room in far more time than it should have taken, what with his recent bursts of speed and all. He picked the door up off the floor, carefully replacing it once he was outside of the room.

There was a ladder leading to the motel roof around the back of the building, and his tightly clenching fingers left indents along the sides as the climbed to the top. Once he was on the roof, Den had to admit that it was as good a bunny hill as he was ever going to find, at least for the activity that he had in mind. He inched himself toward the ledge, looking over into the packed dirt that circled the motel.

He gulped back his fear, and jumped, realizing a bit too late that, while his endurance had been pushed past the limit of a normal human's, he hadn't checked his ability to get hurt, not to the degree that he was facing now, anyway. All the powers of Superman meant _all _the powers, right? He sure hoped so.

That thought passed through his head in less than a second, and then he was falling- falling fast, falling free, falling face-first toward the dirt that ringed the motel. All thoughts of flight, of people dying at the hands of a villain that he had created, of anything other than the ground rushing up impossibly fast were driven from his mind as he connected with the Earth.

Dean expected to feel his nose shatter with the force of the impact. Instead, it was the ground that gave way. He could feel it sinking under him, could vaguely see dust flying up in a desperate attempt to escape the impact of his body on the dirt.

And nothing hurt.

He was surprised, to say the least. If there was one thing that Dean Winchester was used to in life, it was pain. He liked to joke, when he was drunk enough to feel comfortable discussing his mortality with whoever was closest, that getting hurt was his job. He'd been thrown into solid granite gravestones, hurtled into auditorium chairs, ripped apart inside by his own father, and forced to watch his brother die in his arms. Yes, there were two different kinds of pain, and, at the moment, he wasn't feeling either of them.

He figured, as he stood up and brushed the dust off himself, that he was running on an adrenalin rush, almost like the one he'd felt when he'd first put on the cape. That would explain why he didn't care that he'd just risked his life, why it suddenly didn't matter that he'd created a villain. He was _invincible_. He could do anything that he wanted without getting hurt. He'd been wishing for that kind of freedom since childhood.

Smiling, Dean looked down at the human-shaped indentation that he'd left in the dirt. He wanted to test this. He wanted to get thrown into something, to see if he could bleed, to get shot. He wanted some action. He _was_ a hero, after all.

And he _was_ in New York. The action was close enough that he could taste it. Or, hear it, at least.

Still smiling, Dean cocked his head to the side and concentrated, trying to pick up the sounds of someone in distress. It didn't take long for him to hear a scream and take off.


	10. 9: I Don't Care How You Do It

Sorry for the wait. Busy weekend. As for Dean becoming obsessed wtih power... hey, if you sudenly developed superpowers, wouldn't you go try to make the world a better place, especially if you had a major Hero Complex?_

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_Chapter 9_

_I Don't Care How You Do It_

Emmanuelle Baker had always loved living in Black Rock. It gave her the street cred that came with saying that she was a resident of New York (most people automatically assumed that she was from the city, and not just the state), as well as the security that she felt from living in a small town. Sure, there was crime, but nothing as big as what happened in the Big Apple.

That sentiment explained why she was so surprised when the dark figure that had been waiting in the alleyway approached her and pulled a gun. She had barely even noticed the figure of the man (or woman, again it had been a passing glance) before the glint of metal had caught her eye.

Emmy had started running after that. She didn't even bother to look back. She ran as if her life depended upon it, gasping out short cries for help until her lungs demanded that she stop. No one had heard her. It was late and all the businesses that lined the street had closed long before she had left.

Her breath caught repeatedly in her throat, but she could hear footsteps pounding out behind her, chasing her, waiting for her to tire. She was running out of steam fast, and although her fear had caused her adrenalin to spike, she knew that the rush was almost over and the crash was fast approaching.

Behind her, she heard the first gunshot.

o0o0o0o0o

The first bullet hit him in the chest, right about where the woman's heart would be. Dean barely felt it. He glanced down at himself, at the little hole in his shirt where the bullet had hit before harmlessly bouncing off his skin and onto the sidewalk. He looked up at the shooter with a confident smirk on his face, daring the man- it had to be a man, it was too tall to be a woman- to take another shot.

The woman behind him, the one he had saved, gasped. It's not everyday that a man gets shot in the chest with no resulting blood loss, and she was obviously impressed. Or scared. After all, he'd come out of nowhere to save her.

The man with the gun took a shaky step back, shaking his head from side to side beneath the hooded sweatshirt he'd hidden his face under. When Dean turned to check on the woman, he heard the shooter take off running.

"Good riddance," he said, stooping to help the woman, who'd dropped to her knees at the arrival of her savior, back to her feet.

"You got shot," she said, blinking slowly up at him through a haze of panic and confusion.

"He missed," Dean smiled, thanking his father- not for the first time in his life- for teaching him how to lie so convincingly, "by a mile. You all right?"

The woman nodded, allowing herself to be pulled up by the hero. "I don't know what happened. He just came out of nowhere. I didn't even see him."

"Well, he's gone now. You didn't get a good look at him, did you?"

The woman shook her head. "Sorry. I saw the gun and ran. I didn't see his face."

"That's all right. You, uh, want me to walk you home?"

She wrapped her arms tightly around her body and nodded. "This way." She started walking down the street with Dean trailing behind her. "How'd you… how'd you find me?"

"Right place, right time," he shrugged. "Guess we both got lucky."

She nodded. "I'm Emmanuelle, by the way."

"Jason," Dean replied, the alias coming from nowhere and rolling off his tongue before he could stop it. It took him a moment to place the name, as it wasn't one he normally used. He'd heard it at the comic shop, from the girl that Sam thought was his villain. Yeah. That Jason guy had been pretty bad, she'd said, up until he'd actually turned evil.

Dean shoved his hands into his pockets and followed Emmanuelle for about a block, completely lost in thought, wondering if maybe he should go to the local video store and pick up a season set or two of _Smallville_ for research purposes. That, and the fact that the on-going strike in Hollywood had affected his nightly viewing more than he'd imagined it would. There could only be so many times Simon could call someone atrocious before Sam made him tune out.

The sound of the woman he'd saved screaming brought Dean hurtling back from the inside of his head. The shooter appeared to have followed them, taking advantage of back-alleys and side streets until he caught them. He rushed out from the shadow of a building and shoved Emmanuelle hard into a puddle of standing water that had formed near a stopped-up storm drain.

Water sprayed into the air as the woman fell, coating herself and Dean with murky liquid. Glancing once up the street, the would-be murderer fled back into the night. Emmy began to pick herself up from the street, swiping pointlessly at the water and mud that coated her jacket and pants, when Dean saw it.

Headlights flashed up the street, alerting him to the problem before she had even sensed it. Unfortunately, Dean's brain was still lagging behind his five senses after being so roughly pulled from his thoughts, and even Superman didn't have time to react.

The car hit her. It hit her hard and it hit her fast and he prayed that she hadn't felt a thing. Fresh blood spattered his clothing, his face, his shoes, he street. The car screeched to a stop, but it was too late. She was gone, nearly shot, shoved roughly into the water, and now dead.

He looked into the car, and even thought the darkness could see the driver fumbling with his phone. Dean knew he was calling the police, could hear the operator asking for the nature of the emergency. 911 meant cops, and cops were something that couldn't be added to the current equation for disaster that the Winchesters had stepped in.

Dean fled the scene.


	11. 10: It's Not Easy To Be Me

-1_Chapter 10_

_It's Not Easy To Be Me_

Sam was waiting for him when he got back. "Where were you?" the younger man demanded.

"Out," Dean muttered, walking into the room in a daze, not even bothering to try and stand the door back up behind him.

"Out? Out where? Why is there a hole in your shirt? Why are you covered in blood? Dean?"

"Woman almost got shot. I heard her scream," the older man answered, sitting down on his lopsided-bed and staring at the blank TV.

"You didn't."

"I couldn't save her, Sammy. The guy with the gun, he came back and he _pushed _her. He didn't try to shoot her. He just," he glanced up at his brother with troubled eyes, "_pushed_ her. Why would he do that if he had a gun?"

Sam shrugged. "No idea. But you said you couldn't save her. How is pushing her-?"

"He pushed her into the street. Into a puddle. There was a car."

"Oh." Sam stared at the blood speckling the front of his brother's shirt, his pants, his face. "You should get cleaned up."

"I couldn't save her."

"We can't save 'em all, Dean."

Dean blinked, confusion shining through the bright hazel eyes, eyes so haunted with the things that he'd seen and done that Sam knew there was no hope of them ever being innocent and untainted again, not since the fire that had taken their mother. "But I'm Superman."

o0o0o0o0o0o

Machines beeped and hissed, but for the first time in a month, Ian Masters was all right with that. The machines weren't his. They belonged to his roommate, a young girl who had far worse problems than he ever had.

Not that he was happy about that, mind you. He was simply happy that he was on the road to recovery. He felt sorry for the little girl in the other bed, but the doctors at that particular hospital were miracle workers.

Smiling at his own good fortune, Ian glanced at the door, where a darkly dressed nurse seemed to be slouching in the shadows. The smile faded instantly from his face. "Hello?" he called, his voice echoing weakly off the walls of the small room he shared.

The nurse walked slowly through the door, a syringe held in one large hand. "Gotta change the meds," she wheezed in a gravelly voice, approaching his bedside, her face still hidden by the shadows, and inserting the needle into his IV.

"What are you giving me?" Ian asked.

"Something to help you sleep," she replied, her voice gruffer than he'd expect from any of the nurses at this prestigious hospital, but, then again, it _was_ the nightshift.

Ian nodded, leaning back into his pillows as the medication dripped slowly down the tube and into his veins. The nurse turned and walked out, leaving him alone with his happy thoughts of a full recovery and his roommate.

o0o0o0o0o

"Ian Masters," Dean announced sadly as he walked through the door into the motel room, which seemed so dark and gloomy after being in the startling sunlight of the bright Black Rock morning.

"Who?" Sam asked, looking up from his cereal as milk dribbled down his chin.

Dean tossed the paper to his brother before placing the door carefully back where it was supposed to sit. "I'll tell you after I fix this," he muttered, glaring down at the hinges until the familiar burning sensation came to his eyes and welded the hinges back together.

"You sure we'll be able to open that again?" Sam questioned without looking up from the front page of the morning paper.

"If we can't," Dean remarked, "then I'll just break it again, all right?" He tested the door, and, finding it to work, turned to the table with a satisfied grin. "See, I know what I'm doing."

"You still owe me a pair of shoes," Sam reminded him, setting the paper down on the table. "So, this Ian kid-"

"Was in the hospital with some form of cancer. The doctors operated after a couple of months of unsuccessful treatments and cured him. He was gonna be released early next week."

"But he died?"

Dean nodded. "Late last night. The police suspect fowl play. They found traces of some drug in his system that wasn't supposed to be there."

"What did it do?"

"His body shut down on him. The morning nurse found him while she was doing her rounds. He had a bunch of weird sores, which turned out to be little holes that someone cut into his body after he died. They were bleeding all over. His mouth, nose, eyes, all cut and bleeding."

Sam narrowed his eyes and stared at his brother. "That wasn't in the paper, Dean. The reporter said the cause of death was unknown. How'd you know all that?"

"I might have snuck into the hospital and eavesdropped a little," he muttered, "you know, just to find out what was really going on."

"You find out anything else?"

"His liver was cut out."

"They took his liver?"

"Not the doctors."

"The _murderer_ took the kid's liver?" Sam rephrased.

Dean shrugged. "That's what they said."

"But why?"

"Sick town?"

Sam blinked, looking back down at his breakfast. "Hey, you don't think…?"

Dean shook his head, taking a seat across the table from his brother. "Two totally unrelated murders. One was probably a mugger, the other maybe just wanted to sell the kid's liver on the Black Market. Nothing to do with me."

"A mugger wants money, Dean," Sam pointed out, "so does someone hawking organs. And what about the antique dealer that disappeared?"

"Bad timing?"

"More like villainous. We've gotta keep an eye on that Jen girl. Right now, she's our most likely suspect."

Dean sighed, raking his fingers through his hair. "But we're still not sure. For all we know, it could be Bela. I mean, the kidnapping of the antique dealer might be something she'd do. And you know how money-hungry she is."

"But she's not our friend. How can she go from friend to foe if we don't like her?"

"You got any better ideas?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Fine. You tail Bela, I'll look for our _actual_ suspect."

Dean stood up and headed toward the door. "Fine. Just don't come crying to me when you find out I'm right."

"Dean."

"What?"

"Don't kill her unless you're sure, ok?"

Dean smirked. "Sure thing, dude." He ran off into the horizon, leaving the door to slam into the side of the motel in his wake. Grumbling to himself, Sam crossed the room and shut it, leaning up against it once it was closed and sliding down it until he was sitting on the floor.

He let his eyes slide shut. He knew that they shouldn't have been looking for the villain, if there even was one. They _should_ have headed back out to the storage facility after calling Bobby. They _should_ have burnt the cape before anyone else could get hurt. They _should_ have done a lot of things.

At the same time, he knew that they would never do those things, not if they could avoid it. He knew that his brother hated feeling responsible for the deaths of those innocent people, especially the woman who had been hit by the car, but that guilt was cancelled out by the pure euphoria of being invincible. Sam hadn't seen his brother so happy in a long time, so interested in the world, so willing to _live_. He wanted to experiment, to play, to have some fun before his final days, and that was fine with Sam.

He smiled to himself. Dean had taken a bullet to the chest and hadn't bled. He hadn't even _flinched_. He truly was invincible, just as Sam had believed him to be in their younger days. He was _Superman_. Nothing could hurt him. Nothing could take him away. Not if Sam could help it.


	12. 11: There's No Blood, There's No Alibi

So, this document loader is being stupid right now. Just thought I'd complain. Also, has anyone found the pattern?_

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_Chapter 11_

_There's No Blood, There's No Alibi_

_See Jane. See Jane run. See Jane bleed. Bleed, Jane, bleed._ She couldn't help but utter a choked gasp of laughter as blood spilled from her body and stained her couch. Not that the couch was what mattered. Her mind was wandering as she took her last breaths, and she knew it. No one was coming to save her.

She wished she had been more suspicious when the police officer had come to question her about a recent incident in her neighborhood. After all, the only incident she had known of had happened months before she'd gotten that knock at the door.

She also wished that she hadn't pulled the knife out of her chest. The officer had only stabbed her once, but once had been enough. The knife had missed her heart, sure, but that didn't change the fact that it had hit something else.

_See Jane_, she thought randomly, her life flashing before her eyes, taking her back to the days when her mother had taught her to read, _see Jane run. Run, Jane, run._

Die, Jane. Die.

o0o0o0o0o0o

If Dean had thought that the security features in Bela Talbot's apartment had been easy to get past the first time, they were even easier the second. He had snuck up behind the pretty Brit before she even felt the breeze that had accompanied him. "Boo."

She jumped and spun, backing quickly toward the drawer where she kept her only gun. She pulled the drawer open and stuck her hand inside, feeling for the weapon.

"Looking for this?" Dean asked, smiling as he held up the item she was searching for.

"How'd you get in here?" she demanded, slamming the drawer and leaning back against it, "what do you want. I haven't done anything to you."

"Not lately. But in the past, you shot my brother, took advantage of us, and sicced a psychotic, vampiric killer on us."

"He wasn't a vampire when I called you."

Dean cocked an eyebrow. "That's the best you can come up with? Seriously?"

"What do you want, Dean?"

"I want to know why you did it," he responded, taking a step toward her, smirking as she flinched away.

"Did what?" she asked.

"You know what. You killed those people."

"What people?" Bela demanded, leaning farther away from the intruder, the look in her eyes giving away her fear. It seemed that Dean had finally snapped. And with only a few months left to go, too. Pity.

"All of those people in Black Rock," the hunter clarified, "you killed three and kidnapped another."

"A kidnapping? Are you talking about Nitham?" She smiled at the shock written plainly across his face, enjoying the turn of the tables. "The antique dealer?"

"So… you do know what I'm talking about," Dean said, attempting to gain the upper hand once again. Unfortunately, Bela wasn't the type to let that happen.

"I know about what happened to Eric. He was a client of mine. He was getting ready to pay big for something that only I could give him."

"Let me guess. Cursed?"

"Now, Dean," she scolded, "the word 'cursed' can be used so loosely nowadays. It wouldn't have been a curse for him or whoever he had planned on selling it to. Maybe for someone else."

"What is it?"

She snorted. "Like I'm telling you. Besides, it's not really your thing. More Hollywood than back alley."

Dean narrowed his eyes. "What. Is. It."

"A prop," she stated, "from an old-time TV show."

"_Superman_?"

She stepped away from the drawer, walking toward him until she was standing directly in front of him, looking up at him and smiling. "You've heard of it, haven't you?"

"A cape? Yeah, I've heard some stories."

"Any idea where it might be?"

"If I did, do you really think I'd tell _you_?"

Bela sighed, slipping her hands into his, her grin widening as he squirmed under her touch. "I've got people scouring the old Hollywood lots and a couple of studios up in Vancouver. They're going to call as soon as they find something."

"Got anything yet?" he asked, slipping out of her grasp and backing across the room.

"Nothing promising. Are you sure you don't know where it is?"

"Are you sure you don't know anything about those murders?"

"Why the sudden suspicion, Dean? Don't trust me?"

He narrowed his eyes. "Just a hunch."

"Well, I haven't heard anything, and I certainly haven't done anything. So, if you'll just leave-"

"Not so fast, Hermione."

She let out a stray chuckle that sounded particularly condescending. "Was that a Harry Potter reference? Are you seriously that childish?"

"I know you had something to do with those deaths," Dean said, stepping toward her, towering over her small form, practically _growling_, "you knew the man that disappeared. You knew the first victim!"

"They're victims now?" Bela asked, backing away until her back hit the drawers, her usually confident voice wavering, "like, of the same killer?"

"Tell me why," the hunter demanded, slamming his hands down onto the counter on either side of her. The marble chipped and cracked under his fingerss, spilling dust onto her designer jeans. She glanced down at her pants before looking back up at him, a sly smile worming its way across her face.

"_You_," she whispered, that confident tone back in her voice, "you know where the cape is." She looked back down at his hands. "You found it and you put it on, and you think your little curse hit me." She straightened up, placing a hand on his chest and pushing him backwards across the room. He stumbled away from the woman who was now bearing down on him.

"You don't know what you're talking about-"

"You put it on and now you can't face the consequences. But you're wasting your time here. I'm not your villain."

"Just a fake posh British bitch, then?"

She smiled wryly. "Funny. Tell you what. Because your little villain took my client, I think we can work something out. You give me the cape, and I'll help you find your villain. I'm sure I can find another buyer if Nitham has expired."

"You're kidding, right? How stupid do you think I am?" He thought about the statement. "Don't answer that. Look, there might have been a time when you could manipulate me, but those days are over. I'm on to you."

Bela crossed her arms over her chest. "I'm so scared."

"How about you help me find my villain, and then I might tell you where the cape is. Or I might not. I'm tricky like that."

"Or how about we call it a draw and both move on with our lives?"

Dean smirked. "A long time ago, I might have let you get away with that, but," her eyes went wide as he reached out and grabbed her, wrapping his arms tightly around her thin frame and taking off down the stairs, the scenery blurring around them. When he finally stopped and Bela's stomach caught up to her, they were standing on a dreary street corner in the rain. "Then you shot my brother," Dean finished.

"Where are we?"

"That's for me to know, and you to find out," he replied, zipping away and leaving her standing alone in the rain.

Shivering, Bela wrapped her arms around herself and turned to take in her surroundings. Her mouth drew down into a frown as the imposing clock tower caught her eye. "Deeeean," she growled as she stared up at the familiar sight of Big Ben.


	13. 12: If Not For Me, Then You'd Be Dead

Stupid site still takes forever to laod and then erases what I type... Oh, well. Short chapter with tons of CW in-jokes. Please forgive me :)_

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_Chapter 12_

_If Not For Me Then You'd Be Dead_

Sam was busy shoving something into the bottom of his duffle bag when Dean returned from England. "So," the younger man said, spinning around and zipping up his duffle bag as if he was trying to hide something, "you kill her?"

Dean shook his head. "It wasn't her."

"All right. So, we're gonna start trailing that Jen girl tomorrow?"

"Yeah, um, about that," Dean muttered, "see, I stopped by a crime scene on the way back here, and-"

"She killed again?"

"I don't think Jen's our girl."

"Why not?"

"Well, for one thing, the cops just found her dead-"

"_What_?"

"With a bullet in her left shoulder-"

"But that wouldn't have killed her unless-"

"And lungs full of water-"

"She drowned?"

"Under a boulder."

Sam blinked. "Ouch."

"Yeah. Guess someone really sadistic really wanted her gone. She pissed someone off big time, anyway."

Sammy shook his head. "That's so weird. Why do all of that to her? I mean, that seems pretty specific and brutal… and final. There's gotta be some reason."

"Maybe there is," Dean shrugged, "and I would suggest going back to the comic shop and asking if Lex Luthor ever shot, drowned, and stoned anyone, but our local _Smallville_ fanatic was just crushed to death."

"Any other ideas?"

The older man sighed, crossing his arms over his chest and flopping down on his bed, which buckled even farther under the added force. "Just one. We need to go to Blockbuster."

o0o0o0o0o0o

"I can't believe we had to buy it," Dean griped, swinging the plastic bag wildly as he walked down the street.

"I can't believe this was your idea," Sam said, glancing once more at their purchases. The first six seasons of _Smallville_.

"They don't even have good gag reels. Nobody picks their nose, or farts, or even rips their pants. Hell, they don't even break their props."

"That's because they're professionals, Dean. Now, run this plan by me again."

The older man sighed. "I figure, since our only suspect died a horrible death, we need to rethink this who thing. And there's no better way to do that than to get inside the killer's head. Our killer just so happens to be a young Lex Luthor, and young Lex just so happens to be one of the stars of _Smallville_. We watch the show, we get a better feel for this, and we can figure out who our villain is and why she's doing what she's doing."

"You still think it's a girl?"

"I don't think," Dean corrected, "I _know._"

"Well, how do _know_ it's a girl?"

"Because the show's on the CW."

"So?"

"So, what is the CW, Sam?"

"Sickeningly green?"

"Try again."

Sam thought about it, following his brother down the sidewalk back to the motel room, trying to keep all thoughts of how much easier it would have been to drive from his head. Dean still hadn't quite gotten used to his newly acquired strength, and wasn't about to put a hole in the floor of his car. Apparently, letting Sam drive was also out of the question.

"Um, lacking in decent programming since the end of February?"

"True, but not what I was looking for."

"I don't know, Dean. Run by an idiot?"

"Closer. Want a hint?"

"Just tell me."

"Jeez," Dean muttered, "Mr. Impatient over here. The CW is a chick network. It's like Lifetime For Teenagers. Therefore, our villain _must_ be female."

"That's horrible logic," Sam reasoned, "guys watch the CW. They have wrestling."

"Bulging muscles in spandex. You're proving my point."

"All I'm trying to say is that-" Sam stumbled over his words as a teenage girl nearly bowled him over. She slammed into him, dropping the cell phone she had been rapidly typing on and hurtling out into the street as the hunter attempted to right himself.

Dean saw the whole thing in slow motion, his mind flashing back to the night that Emmanuelle Baker had died. Everything was exactly the same. The girl fell from the sidewalk and into the street, into the path of an on-coming school bus full of members of some sports team or another.

Thinking fast and determined to not make the same mistake twice, Dean dropped his bag and dove into the road after her, reaching down and scooping her up in his arms before dashing out of the bus's path and onto the opposite sidewalk.

The bus driver, who had seen the girl fall into the street, slammed on the brake, trying to avoid killing the innocent teen, his head hitting the wheel suddenly and sounding the horn as Dean turned back to the careening bus.

The driver looked down for the count, and the vehicle was spinning as the brakes gave out. Looking across the street as the bus passed, Dean yelled for his brother to look after the girl before taking off after the out-of-control bus.

Like the thief that had, only a couple of days before, been supermanned by a hoe, the bus was fairly easy to catch. Unlike the semi truck that had, only a couple of years before, nearly been the death of Dean Winchester, the bus didn't hurt. Nor did it send the hero into a deadly coma, so, bonus points for that.

It did, however, crash upon impact with the hunter's body, its grille wrapping itself around him, closing him in tight. As soon as he was certain that the vehicle had completely finished moving, Dean risked exposing himself as the hero that he was and pushed his way out of his metal prison. The on-lookers hadn't assembled by that point, and he considered himself lucky. He ran all the way back to the motel.


	14. 13: With The Hands Of Uncertainty

Thanks for reading and reviewing, guys. I'm gonna assume that there are very few replies because the site is slow in loading for some reason. Hint, hint. :)_

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_Chapter 13_

_With The Hands Of Uncertainty_

"Quite the stunt you pulled today," Sam said as he waltzed through the motel room door about two hours after Dean had let himself get hit by a bus.

"Nobody saw me, did they?"

Sam shook his head. "Just a blur. They figured the bus hit something else. Maybe a deer. A big, damn, bloodless deer."

"Makes sense. So, what took you?"

Sighing, Sam plopped down on his bed, dropping the Blockbuster bag onto the floor beside him. "They wanted to ask a few questions."

Dean straightened up immediately. "Shit, Sam, I didn't even think of that."

"No big deal. I used the opportunity to get some information."

"Information about what?"

"That girl you saved. Her name was Christy Chambers. If it wasn't for you, she'd be dead."

The older man nodded. "Yeah, well, I can't take all the credit. I mean, if it wasn't for you, I wouldn't have had to save her."

"You think I pushed her?" Sam asked, his tone more accusatory than the joking nature of his brother's voice should have prompted.

"Dude, relax. It was an accident. Nobody's fault but whoever invented texting. That chick should sue him."

"But Christy didn't get hurt-"

"Shouldn't matter. This is America. People have gone to court for less."

"The bus driver did."

Dean blinked. "What?"

"Yeah," Sam nodded, "Jonathan Carver. He saw the girl fall in front of the bus, slammed on the brakes, saw her disappear, and had a massive heart attack."

"I killed him?"

"You didn't kill anyone. The guy was old."

"But if I hadn't snatched her-"

"Then they probably both would have died." Sam reasoned, "I know we had this talk. You can't save everyone." Dean opened his mouth to protest, but got cut off. "Even if you _are_ Superman."

Dean sighed, apparently accepting the verdict for the time being. "So, we gonna crack open those DVD sets, or what?"

o0o0o0o0o0o

The two men tumbled around the room. The older one tried to strangle the younger one. The younger one broke a glass jar over the older one's head.

"I'm so conflicted," Dean said, watching the fight with tired eyes and unexplainable enthusiasm. Four seasons of _Smallville_ in four days will do that a guy. "I loved that one in _Dukes_," he admitted, pointing to the blond man being held at gunpoint, "but I liked _that_ one," he pointed to the blood-soaked young man with the rifle, "in _Dark Angel_. Bo or Alec. What's a fan to do?" He sighed, rolling his eyes at the lack of intended sarcasm in his final sentence.

Sam seemed not to notice that his brother had said anything. In fact, Dean was pretty sure that the younger man was asleep with his eyes open, staring blankly at the TV screen.

"I wish they hadn't sucked that hot blonde chick from last season into the wall," Dean lamented, "what was her name? Kara? Lindsey? Either way, she was smoking. Looked kinda familiar, too. Didn't you think so, Sammy?"

Again, Sam didn't respond. He just stared blankly at the screen, watching the final events of the fourth season of _Smallville_ play out. Sighing, Dean turned back to the screen in time to see a meteor heading toward the Kent farm.

"Turn around, Pretty Boy," he shouted at the screen as Jason reacted with wide eyes to the sound and light produced by the flaming chunk of space debris. "Oh, tough break. Maybe next year, huh?" He smiled, looking back at Sam. "Guy just can't win. I mean, in the span of two episodes of _Smallville_, he gets shot in the shoulder, falls off a cliff into white water, and gets his by a rock. And I thought _our_ bad guy was sadistic."

Sam blinked and turned to look at his brother, absently grabbing the remote and hitting the mute button. "Dean?"

"Nice of you to join us, Sleeping Beauty. You missed the fight."

"I saw it. I just can't believe it."

"Believe what?"

Sam shook his head. "I mean, it was just a theory before, but after that… so _specific_."

"Mind clueing me in here?"

"Not right now. Not until I'm sure." Sam grinned. "But I'm pretty sure. I need you to go online and find the names of every actor who's played a major character on _Smallville_. They need to be in at least half the season. It shouldn't be too hard to find. Make a list of the ones that died."

"And what are you gonna do?"

The younger man held up the final two DVD sets. "I'm gonna finish the show."

o0o0o0o0o0o

Erica Saunders liked to run. She spent most of her days outdoors, even as the temperature dropped and her friends and family headed into the warm interiors of their homes. She would run outside, through the dense woods that ran along behind her house, stopping to rest on a rock that jutted out over the babbling stream that carved its way through her own personal forest.

Her iPod blaring Remy Zero, Erica slowed hr pace and plopped down on one of the rocks to watch the spring rush past. She breathed in deeply, inhaling the fresh air that blew through the trees. She loved the peace and quiet of the area.

She never heard the footsteps approaching her from behind, never saw the looming figure in the brown jacket until he'd spun her around with large hands and plunged a knife deep into her stomach.


	15. 14: Somebody Save Me

I'm glad I'm not the only one haveing problems with fanfiction loading, but it 's faster now.

Sorry about the shortness of the chapters. A looooong one's on the way, trust me.

Thanks for the reviews!_

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_Chapter 14_

_Somebody Save Me_

"You take 'em back?" Dean asked as his brother entered the room after a suspiciously extended absence.

Sam nodded. "Yep. Sorry about the hold-up. Guy at Blockbuster needed some persuading."

"How much you get?"

"Six seasons of that crapfest for thirty bucks. Can you believe it?"

"Ouch."

"Yeah," the younger man sighed, "so not worth it. So, you find everything?"

Dean nodded, turning back to the laptop and pulling up the list of names that Sam had told him to search for. "You mind telling me why you wanted to know who the unlucky _Smallville_ rejects are, or do I have to guess?"

"We both might be guessing," Sam admitted. "It's just a theory. Why don't you run them by me in order, huh?"

"Like, alphabetical?"

"Like, in order of their deaths, Dean."

The older man rolled is eyes. "My, aren't we specific? All right, first off was Eric Johnson-"

"Whitney Fordman," Sam recalled, "he joined the marines and went missing. K.I.A."

"Went missing?" Dean asked, "Like-?"

Sam shook his head. "Not sure. Give me the next one."

"Um, Emmanuelle Vaugier."

"Helen Bryce."

"Another hottie," Dean observed, "right?"

"I didn't notice."

"Come on, Sam. You know you'd bang her if you had a chance."

"She tried to kill Lex," the younger said a little louder than was necessary, "but it didn't work. He wrestled over a gun with her-"

"And she fell out of a plane," Dean finished, "told you that show was sadistic."

"It's no worse than the one that follows it," Sam said.

"_Reaper?_"

"Dean."

"All right. Um, after the Good Doctor got a face full of ocean, there was Ian Somerhalder."

Sam nodded. "Adam Knight. Lionel brought him back from the dead in order to find a way to cure his own ailing liver. As long as Adam took his drugs, he lived, but when he ran out-"

"His body shut down on him," Dean said, "yeah. I remember. He was almost a hero, too. Nearly got rid of Lana."

"Who's next?"

"Jane Seymour. Alias, Genevieve Teague."

"Stabbed to death by Lana the Witch."

"Purple eyes never lie," Dean quipped. "Hey, Sammy, I think I see what you're getting at here."

"And it hasn't even gotten good yet." He nodded, indicating that his brother should continue reading.

"Jensen Ackles," Dean said. The room fell into a silence, as if both brothers were waiting for a black hole to rip open between them, swallowing their universe whole at the mention of that name.

"Jason Teague," Sam finally said, "shot in the shoulder, fell off a cliff, probably nearly drowned-"

"And it still didn't kill him," Dean muttered, shaking his head in disbelief. "Lana was right. The guy was resilient."

"Until faced with a kryptonite-laced meteor."

"And they still didn't find a body," the older man pointed out, "so he could come back. So, you gonna let me in on your little secret now, or do I have to wait?"

"Just give me a couple more."

Sighing, Dean turned back to the computer. "John Schneider." He looked back up at Sam, who had crossed the room to stand over him and look at the list.

"You're missing one."

"Who?"

"Kristen Kruek. Lana got hit by a bus before Jonathan's heart crapped out on him."

Dean nodded. "Freaky coincidence, then, if what I'm thinking is right." He glanced back at the screen. "Then, uh, Lois got stabbed. That's a couple more, you mind telling me why I spent a day and a half on these stupid websites looking up the deceased?"

Sammy grinned, grabbing a chair and spun it around to sit across the table from his brother. "I think you already know."

"Whitney Fordman went missing," Dean recapped, "just like Eric Nitham. Helen Bryce fell out of a plane into the ocean after almost getting shot. Kinda like victim number two."

"Adam Knight's body turns on him because of a liver disease," Sam added, "and some kid in the hospital turns up covered in weird sores and no liver. Genevieve Teague gets stabbed in the chest, just like Jane Richmond."

"Her son goes through hell and doesn't come back out. Our main suspect turns out suspiciously like him, only with an identifiable body."

"A girl nearly gets run over by a bus. Superman bends the rules of staying in cognito to save her, and the bus driver dies of a heart attack."

Dean nodded. "The actors share names with the victims. Or, in Jen's case, a nickname maybe. Who names their son Jensen?"

"It doesn't matter. It was the death that tipped me off. Pretty specific. I'd noticed the similarities in names back in season 2, with Helen, but it didn't click together until season 4."

"Our villain's copy-catting _Smallville_?"

"And he-"

"_She_."

"_She_ just struck again. Take a wild guess at the vic's name and cause of death."

The older man sighed, glancing back at the laptop before closing it. "Erica. Stab wound in the stomach."

"Only no Krypto-tears to heal her." Sam hung his head. "Maybe we should just burn the cape. Even if we're not sure-"

"If we're not sure, it might not stop the killings. Maybe this psycho's just getting started. We need to look into the cape more before we do anything drastic."

"Well, we're gonna have to look fast."

"Why's that?"

Sammy sighed, looking back up at his brother. "Lana Lang finally died at the end of season 6. Her car blew up. Dean, some woman out there is in danger, and the longer we wait, the more chances this chick has to strike."

The older brother nodded his agreement, standing up and crossing the room to look into the mirror. "What do you suggest we do, then?"

"You stay here and find out everything you can about the cape and its origins. Call Bobby again if you have to. Maybe try Ellen, too."

"What are you gonna do?"

Sam pushed himself out of his chair and stretched. "I'm gonna find someone named Kristen and make sure she doesn't start her car."


	16. 15: It's Not Complicated

Sorry again for the length, but it's leading to something... something big and long and totally worth it, if I do say so myself :)_

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_Chapter 15_

_It's Not Complicated_

"Well, if it isn't my friendly neighborhood Superman." Dean could hear the smile in his friend's voice as Bobby answered the phone. "You burnt that damned thing yet?"

Dean sighed. "No, sir. We wanted to see if we could find our villain first. We, uh, thought you might have been lying about burning it."

"You thought it was me, didn't you?"

Dean cleared his throat, happy that Bobby wasn't there to witness the reddening of his face. "Can never be too careful."

"Well, to tell the truth, I'm glad you were suspicious."

"You are?"

"Yeah. I was wrong. Pulling something like you did with that rabbit's foot wouldn't have worked. You need a different ritual for this one."

"What is it?"

"Grab a piece of paper and a pencil," he older man said, "it's complicated." Dean did as he was told. "First off, you've gotta do it at night. You build up a fire with corn stalks-"

"Corn stalks?" Dean asked.

"Corn stalks. You've gotta love origin stories."

"Right. Kansas. All right, so I'm burning corn stalks at night. Anything else?"

"You need the blood of the hero and villain."

"That's impossible. Superman can't get hurt."

"True," Bobby said slowly, "but you're not Superman."

"But I'm invincible. I fell off a roof the other day and-"

"The wound has to be self-inflicted. And it has to be at night. The Earth's yellow sun and all that mumbo-jumbo."

"So I can get hurt at night."

"You haven't been listening, have you?" Bobby snapped. "You can only hurt yourself. And only at night."

Dean nodded, making a note of that fact. "Ok. So, I find the villain and I kill her-"

"No!"

"Dude, why not?"

"The moment you put o that cape, you created a villain," Bobby explained, "the two of you are linked now. You kill the villain, there's no reason to have a hero."

"I'll lose the powers?"

"You'll lose your life. Your daddy and I found that one out the hard way."

"You killed the last villain?"

"And the last hero."

"Ok," Dean nodded, "so I light some corn stalks on fire, coat 'em with my blood and the blood of the psychopath who's been killing innocent people because of me, and then I burn the cape?"

"The blood has to be from your head," Bobby clarified.

"What?"

"The specifics of the curse," the older man explained, "George Reeves was shot in the head. Whether by his own hand or by some else's is up to you, but the cape was his and the blood needs to be drawn in a similar fashion."

"You want me to shoot myself in the head?"

He could hear the annoyance in Bobby's voice as the other hunter answered. "Just a scrape. Just enough to bleed. And don't go shootin' your villain, either."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Dean deadpanned. "So, is that everything?"

Bobby was slow in answering, possibly looking over his own list. "Night, corn, blood, cape. Looks like everything."

"And there's no Latin or anything?"

"Boy, this is Hollywood. They wouldn't have gotten it right, anyway. No, the magic's in the cape."

Dean smirked. "That sounds pretty Disney, Bobby. Add a couple of songs and some talking rodents and you've got yourself a feature film." The phone clicked and Dean was left listening to a very loud, long tone. "Didn't even say good-bye," he muttered, flipping the phone shut and setting it on the table next to him.

The hunter stood up and stretched his legs, folding up the piece of paper he'd grabbed to write Bobby's instructions on and slipping it into his pants pocket. He was surprised to hear the familiar noise of a cell phone vibrating across the table, and immediately reached down and picked it up, flipping it open to answer.

"Good-bye," he announced, figuring it was Bobby.

"Dean?" Sam's voice asked.

"Sammy? Um, thought you were someone else. What's up?"

"I found the girl," Sam reported, "but I might need some help persuading her to stay away from cars. Did you call Bobby?"

Dean nodded. "Yep. He knows how to end it. Said it was good we waited, too, because he was wrong."

"Great," Sam said, "look, I'm in downtown Black Rock, up on the roof of the Hartley Complex. You know where that is?"

"Yeah, it's on the way to dad's storage locker. But why are you-?"

"Kristen works in the building. I wanted to make sure I saw her leave. She's getting off soon, and I'm thinking I'll need back-up. You want to run over here?"

"Um, sure," Dean sputtered, grabbing his jacket and heading out the door, "I just need to pick something up first."

"Great. I'll be waiting."

"Oh, and Sammy?"

"Yeah?"

"If you see our girl, try not to kill her, ok?"

"Sure thing, Dean." Both men hung up.


	17. 16: Up, Up, And Away

Whoo. I'm back. All right, let's see here. Oh, yes. You wanna meet our villain? Read on, Faithful Readers! _

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_Chapter 16_

_Up, Up, and Away_

Dean shoved open the door leading onto the roof of the Hartley complex in what passed for downtown Black Rock. He was surprised to see Sam standing by the ledge overlooking the parking lot, peering down at the concrete, obvious to anyone below who bothered to look up.

"Thought you were better at the whole stake-out thing than this," Dean said, letting the door shut behind him and drawing his jacket closer to his body, grimacing at the sound of the dry corn husks he'd collected on the way over crackling inside his jacket.

Sammy shrugged. "Not really anyone out and about here, anyway."

"No one but Kristen," the older man reminded, "and speaking of-"

"Yeah, about that," Sam muttered, turning to face his brother, "she left."

"You let her leave?"

"What was I supposed to do, Dean? Jump off the roof to try and stop her?"

"Did you at least see which way she went?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah. She's driving a black hummer. She headed east. If you fly-"

"We've been over this. I can't fly."

"You can't, or you don't want to?"

"I can't," Dean sighed, "I tried. And when did this become about me?"

"It's always been about you," Sam replied sadly, shaking his head. "I mean, you get all the powers of Superman and you don't even try-"

"I _told_ you-"

"How many times? How many times did you try?"

"Once. That was enough. Look, Sam, shouldn't we be trying to find this girl?"

"She'll be fine. Trust me. You need to face your fears."

"This is ridiculous. That girl is in danger."

Sam hung his head. "You need motivation," he muttered, his voice low enough that even Dean had trouble hearing his brother's words. Looking up at the older man with sad, pitying eyes, Sam took a step back toward the ledge.

"Sammy?"

"You've gotta learn to spread you wings eventually, Dean." He took another step back.

"Sam." The elder hunter's tone was warning, but that didn't stop the younger man from taking one final step backwards and off the roof. Dean didn't think about what he was doing, he just lunged at the edge of the building as he saw his brother's body disappear over the side.

He was in free fall instantly, propelled by his own motion over the side and toward the ground. He closed his eyes, blocking out the concrete that rushed toward him too fast for comfort, awaiting an impact that never came.

Gulping back his fear at what he might find, Dean opened his eyes. The concrete of the sidewalk was about a foot below his nose, stationary, no longer rushing at him, threatening to turn him into a splatter on the street.

From behind him, he heard the sound of clapping. As soon as he turned to face the noise, Dean fell, hitting the sidewalk hard. Sam stepped out of the shadows, a large smile plastered on his face, his hands beating against one another in a slow rhythm.

"Congratulations," Sammy gushed, "I knew you could do it!"

Dean stared up at his brother, pushing himself up on his knees to get a better look at the taller man. "_What_?"

"You flew. Well, sort of. More like panicked floating, but it's a start. And here you thought you couldn't do it."

The older man scrambled to his feet. "What the _hell _were you thinking? You could have died!"

Sam shook his head, shoving his hands into his pockets, his smile widening. "No. That's not gonna be a problem anymore."

"What do you mean?" Dean asked. His mind had slowed, his thoughts running like molasses, still reeling from his fall.

"I'm not gonna die," Sam clarified, "we can go after whatever has your soul. Dean, I've got a plan and everything."

"You fell off the roof."

"Not really." Sam ducked is head, avoiding his brother's slightly dazed eyes, waiting for the older man to come farther from his stupor before revealing everything to him. "You really should try to fly, Dean." he said softly, "it's so… freeing."

Dean blinked, his eyes clearing, thoughts resuming their normal speed, brain screaming at him that something was wrong. "How would you know that?"

Sam's eyes came up, shining with deception, forbidden knowledge, something dark that hadn't been there a week before. "That's for me to know, and you to find out." He smiled, his feet lifting up off the ground, body floating two feet in the air. "Catch me if you can." He flew off.


	18. 17: If I Go Crazy Then Will You Still

And here it is. The pay-off. Everything has been leading up to this, folks. So sit back, relax, and maybe take a quick bathroom break before you start. This is gonna be a long one :)_

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_Chapter 17_

_If I Go Crazy Then Will You Still Call Me Superman?_

Dean stood on the sidewalk, staring up into the sky at his brother's shrinking form, his mouth hanging open in shock. Of all the things he'd expected to come from rifling through their father's storage locker, Sam flying off into the sunset had definitely been at the bottom of his list.

Actually, it hadn't even been on the list.

Sighing, Dean resigned himself to the fact that he was going to have to go after his brother, and the easiest way was to fly. Sure, it would have been nice to know how Sam had even come across the ability to defy gravity, but Dean figured that was an explanation that only his brother could give, and his brother had disappeared.

Gulping back his fear for the second time in five minutes, Dean closed his eyes and jumped…and landed firmly back on the ground. "Just couldn't be easy, could it?" he muttered to himself.

"Don't think." Dean spun around, half expecting to see his brother standing behind him. The only thing inhabiting the spot of sidewalk by which Dean had face-planted, though, were shadows. He strained his ears to see if he could pick up the sound of his brother's voice again. "Just go with it."

"All right," he said under his breath, steeling his nerves for another attempt. He was hard pressed to find a way to not think about it. After all, flying was his one great fear, next to abandonment. Sam wasn't giving him much of a choice, though.

And he still couldn't figure out why he was trying to chase his brother though the rapidly darkening sky when an innocent girl was about to be blown to bits. Even if Sam had said she was safe, how would really know? It wasn't like they'd found the killer. Unless…

Dean's eyes went wide as a sickening thought hit him. He and Sam had never been together when the murders were committed. What if…?

It was the only possibility he'd never thought of, the only person he hadn't considered. Sam would never turn on him, not of his own free will, anyway. Of course, there _was_ a curse at work.

His heart sinking in his chest as a fear stronger than any flight could cause gripped him, Dean concentrated on his brother, on what had happened, on what he'd done, and took off into the sky.

His stomach recoiled almost as soon as his feet left the ground, his baser instincts screaming at him to find another way to follow his brother. Unfortunately, it was getting darker and it would be incredibly hard to see the sky from the ground as scenery rushed past at blinding speed. He was kind of out of options.

So he was floating. Which was a start, as Sam had said.

Ah, yes, Sam. The reason that Dean was even attempting to defy gravity in the first place. Little Mr. Luthor was out of sight, but Supes had a feeling that he would stick around in the shadows long enough to make sure that he was being followed.

Taking a deep breath, Dean tried to force himself to go in the direction that Sam had disappeared into, but his body was being stubborn. "Don't think about it, right?" he muttered, "how the _hell_ do you _not_ think about this?"

Which was, apparently, the answer to his question, as cool air blew in his face, ruffling his hair, sending his jacket flapping out behind him like… well, like a cape. Up, up, and away.

He tried to steady his breathing, tried to prevent hyperventilation, tried to calm his nerves. He closed his eyes, concentrating on his brother, on what he had done to his brother.

When Dean opened his eyes again, he was looking down on the world from an entirely new vantage point. Everything looked so small, so unimportant, so unthreatening. As long as he was up there, it was like he was carefree, like nothing mattered but how he happened to be feeling that day.

And then he saw Sam. His brother was hovering over a tall building that jutted conspicuously into the sky. The younger man had crossed his arms over his chest and was wearing what could possibly have been the biggest grin Dean had ever seen on his face.

"Incredible, isn't it?" Sam asked, "it's like a whole different world up here."

"It's you, isn't it?" Dean asked, unable to think of anything else to say, "it was you the whole time."

"What are you talking about?" Sam asked, floating back a couple of feet, making Dean fly a little closer just to keep him from melting into the shadows.

"You killed those people. All of them."

Sam shook his head. "You don't understand, Dean. Look, just let me explain." But he had already started to fly off into the night, trying to avoid his brother's questions. "Just give me a couple of months, and then we can talk."

"We don't have a couple of months, Sammy," Dean said, "we need to talk _now._" Before he even knew what he was doing, he was flying at his brother, the air cutting sharply at his face, hurting his eyes, freezing his nose and ears. He angled downward as soon as he'd hit the younger man, sending them spiraling toward the roof of the building and realizing all too late what that meant.

As they fell toward the roof, Dean twisted around, wrapping strong arms around Sam, who surprisingly didn't struggle, putting himself between his little brother and the concrete that was rushing ever closer.

They broke through, falling fast into whatever building Sam had stopped above. Dean's back connected firmly with the floor. The concrete cracked underneath him, once again making him thankful for his current situation, for spine-saving invincibility.

Sam was off him in an instant, grabbing his arm, pulling him back to his feet, asking if he was all right. "You care?" Dean asked, glancing up at the hole in the ceiling before turning to the large dent that he'd left in the concrete floor, his eyes wide with disbelief.

"Of course I care," Sam said, his gaze flickering from his brother to something just behind him and lingering. "I'm not heartless."

"Just a killer," Dean replied, his heart aching at the words. That pain only intensified when he saw no remorse in his brother's eyes.

"I did it for you," Sam said, taking a step toward Dean and to the right, causing the older man to step to the left in response. "For us. Don't you get it, Dean? We can save you now."

"We've been over this." The older man retreated another step as Sam approached. "I'm gonna die. You can't stop it."

"No, you're not," Sam insisted, taking yet another step, forcing his brother back again. "You're _Superman_, Dean. You can't die."

Dean swallowed hard, moving away again, realizing that they were circling each other, like in an old western or a corny action movie. The thing was, though, that it wasn't corny. It was very real.

"I'm going to Hell, Sam."

"But you _can't_. You can't because you can't die. Do you know what happens to a body that can't die when the devil takes its soul, Dean? Because I looked into it. The body _keeps living_. _Without_ a _soul_."

The older hunter felt the bottom of his stomach drop out. He hadn't thought of that. He'd never imagined-

"I'm not gonna let that happen," Sam said softly, taking another step. They were standing across from each other, standing in the spot where the other had started, and Dean could see what had captured his brother's attention before: their father's storage locker.

"Sam," he said slowly, taking another step along the circular path, forcing his brother to move back, as if they were magnets with opposite polarities, "you can't. You'll die."

"Why do you think I put on the cape?" Sammy asked.

Dean glanced back into his father's locker, barely taking his eyes from Sam. He couldn't see the cape. He couldn't imagine that someone who had gone off the deep end into villainy would have cared much about what happened to the mystical item once its usefulness had ended, but it seemed that Sam had put it back in its place.

"Looking for this?" the younger man asked, reaching inside his jacket pocket and pulling out a red, folded-up piece of cloth.

"It didn't turn black?"

"That's Spiderman, Dean," Sam clarified, "but I guess you missed that movie. It's ok. I think that whole power-responsibility thing might have been lost on you. I'm proof of that."

Dean shook his head as Sam slipped the cape back into his jacket. "Why? Why do it?"

"I told you. I wanted to save you. I wanted you to want to save yourself."

"I can't-"

"Because I'll die, yeah. But, Dean, I _can't_ die. And neither can you. Don't you get it?"

"I get the immortality," Dean said, "but why the murders? Did you just figure you were the other one that cape put the whammy on and decided to go with it? Huh? Because that's not like you. More like Gordon, if you ask me." They were still circling slowly, walking with smooth, calculated steps.

"I'm not like Gordon. I just needed a distraction. I needed to keep you busy until I could get away to grab the cape."

"You killed those people to distract me?"

Sam sighed, an exasperated sound that seemed to bubble forth from his recently blackened soul. "I can't die," he reiterated, "we can save you now. And then we can go off and be done with all of this. We can settle down. Or we could keep saving people. Whatever you want, just help me."

"Those people we innocent, Sam-"

"No, they weren't. I did my digging. They all had their dirty little secrets. I did the world a favor, Dean. I took scum off the streets to save a good person."

"What about the bus driver?"

Sam shrugged. "Convenient."

"How'd you plan 'em, though? I mean, they al fit that pattern. You couldn't have known, unless-"

"It was Jessica's favorite show," Sam said softly, "she made me watch it with her. Guess I kind of got into it. After she died, I couldn't really find an excuse to watch it. I only caught the hundredth episode because you were out."

"That's why Erica was stabbed after you finished the DVDs."

"Exactly." He smiled. "Now, come on. Let's get back to the room and start packing. I've got a plan."

"That's it? You want to tell me that you killed seven people because of me _for_ me, and then just go home and drink a couple beers, maybe play some Uno? You don't do that, Sam. You're sick and it's my fault. But I can fix it. Give me the cape."

"Not yet. Look, I've already got a plan."

"We're not gonna do it."

"That's the beauty of superpowers, Dean. I don't need you to help me. I wish you would, but only if you want to."

"And what is this master plan?" Dean asked, disgusted at Sam, at himself, at the evil and death and destruction he'd caused.

"We go back to Wyoming and kick open the gates to Hell. With our strength, we can do it easy. Then, we do what you promised Meg you would. We march in there and kill every evil son of a bitch we can find. I figure that one of them has to have your soul."

"What about the ones that escape? The ones that rush past when we open the gates, huh?"

"We'll hunt them down later- after we save you."

"What of they find us before we find them?"

"What are they gonna do, Dean? Kill us?"

"No. But they can kill other people. _Innocent _people."

"I thought I made it clear to you," Sam said through clenched teeth, "that I _only_ care about what happens to _you_."

Dean hung his head. "I'm so sorry. But I'm gonna fix this." He never saw his brother lift off the ground and rush toward him, only felt the wind knocked from his lungs as Sam sent him through the metal grating and into his father's locker.

He hit the floor hard (again), and slid into the chest that had once held the cape. Shaking his head to try and clear it, Dean propped himself up on his elbows and gave Sam a wide-eyed stare as dust fell from his head into his eyes.

"I'm sorry, too," Sam said, "but I can't let you do that. Not yet. Not until I save you."

"This is ridiculous," Dean grunted as he climbed to his feet, "Sam, this isn't you."

"But it is." Sam stepped gingerly through the broken grating and into the locker, grabbing hold of one of the handlebars on a rusted-up old motorcycle and twisting it until it snapped off. "Face it, Dean. I've always had this inside me. Ever since I was a baby."

"You're not evil. I just made you that way. But I can fix it."

Sam shook his head, stepping closer. "I don't blame you. It wasn't your fault. You just don't get it. You think you're Superman, but you're not. Not for everyone. Just for me. You're my Superman, Dean."

The older man had opened his mouth to comment on the pure cheese quality of his brother's last, teary line when Sam swung the metal bar from the bike, connecting cleanly with Dean's jaw and sending him flying backwards through the air to land inside an old wooden coffin.

"You can't ruin this for me," Sam said, sympathy finally clouding his eyes as his brother struggled to regain his feet, "I have to do it. You have to let someone else be the hero, just once. Then everything can go back to normal. I promise. I just can't have you trying to mess everything up."

Dean staggered up out of the wreck of the coffin, not liking the way Sam was swinging the bar, testing it. He gingerly touched his jaw, moving it back and forth. There was no pain, no break. Again, invincibility had been good to him. He hated to see it go.

"Can't just sit aside and wait for you to send yourself to Hell, Sammy," he said.

"I wouldn't stay there. I'd just let myself in and off a few demons. What's so wrong with that?"

"For every one you off, at least ten more with get out, I can guarantee it. People will die and it will be on your head."

"And yours," Sam reminded him, " but it's for the best. Besides, there are other hunters."

"And what are you gonna do if I try to stop you?"

Sam grinned. "Well, I'm not gonna kill you, if that's what you think. I mean, you dying is what got us here in the first place. I'm just gonna test your limits, and when you reach them-"

He never finished the sentence. His body flew backwards and into a shelf, toppling the items that had been precariously perched there and sending them shattering to the floor.

Sam followed soon after, landing in the spray of glass. He lifted his head to see Dean standing by the coffin with a satisfied smirk on his face. "Dude," the younger man muttered, "I thought we had a talk about the onions."

"Didn't know I could do that," Dean said, inhaling deeply before sending a gust of air up toward the ceiling, which crumbled a bit from the force of the blow.

"Really impressive," Sam said, working his way back to his feet. "But surprising. I mean, really, Dean? Giving me a super _blow job_? I thought you didn't swing that way."

Dean grinned. "Cute. Thought I was the one with the dirty mind." Sam just mimicked his expression. "Look, there's no good way this can end. We can't die- not that we'd want to kill each other anyway. We're both invincible. This is pointless. Just give me the cape and we can burn it and go home, ok? But I'm not fighting you anymore."

The smile faded from Sam's face. "Good point. There really can't be a winner." He pulled the cape from his pocket and gazed down at it, running the soft red fabric through his fingers. "You said that burning the cape wouldn't work?"

"It's got a specific ritual."

Sam nodded, looking back up at his brother. "So, if we had burnt it, it wouldn't have fixed anything? You would still have your powers?"

"And you'd still have yours, I guess," Dean said slowly, finally feeling as if he was getting through to his brother. He took a step forward and held out his hand. "I'd feel a lot better if you'd give that to me, Sam."

The younger man obliged, tossing the cape into the air and blowing a soft stream of air up after it, directing it toward his brother's outstretched hand.

"See," Dean smiled as he plucked the floating cape from the air. "That wasn't so bad." He pulled the cape down by his side and looked back up at Sam, who had fixed him with an odd stare- a mixed look of hurt and determination. "Sammy?"

He felt the heat coming before it actually hit him, and he was almost as thankful for that as he was for the invulnerability. Dean rolled the cape up into a small bundle and shoved it into his coat as he leaned backwards to avoid the steady stream of heat radiating from his little brother's eyes.

He had a moment to realize that the whole thing must have looked ridiculously like the over-parodied scene from _The Matrix_ before the heat hit the landmine that had been sitting on the table behind him. From his upside-down vantage point, Dean saw the whole thing, and reacted without thinking.

He straightened himself out and ran toward Sam, reaching him and wrapping his arms around him before the mine detonated, filling the space with fire. Both brothers were blown out of the locker and thrown to the floor by the blast. Their tangled bodies skidded to a stop below the hole that Dean had made in the ceiling.

The older man stood up first, turning to look back at their father's storage locker. Flames licked at the ceiling, the walls, the shelves of treasured memories and cursed artifacts. Inside the inferno, Dean was sure, a certain sawed-off made by twelve-year-old hands was sending up sparks while an old soccer trophy melted away to nothing.

Heat radiated from the locker, but he didn't feel it. He looked back at Sam, who was still sprawled out on the floor, blood dripping slowly from his mouth. Narrowing his eyes, Dean leaned down and inspected the younger man's still form, opening his mouth to find the source of the crimson liquid. Sam had bitten his lip sometime during the fight, maybe even after setting off the landmine.

Finally seeing a way out of his current nightmare, Dean scooped his brother into his arms and took off through the hole that he'd made. He would let the fire department take care of the rest of the mess. He had Sam to look after.


	19. 18: Hell, We Even Lost Superman

All right. We're down to the final 2 chapters. They're shorter, but they (obviously) wrap up the story. So, please enjoy this stuff. I hope I can do the idea justice!_

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_Chapter 18_

_Hell, We Even Lost Superman_

Dean stared into the fire, wondering if he would feel it. After all, he'd felt something when he'd been cursed, so why not when he got un-cursed? He glanced back at Sam., whom he'd lain out beside him before setting the cape ablaze. What would happen to him? Would he remember? What if he didn't? Dean sure wouldn't be the one to tell him, and since Dean was the only one who knew…

He swiped at the blood he'd sent dribbling down his cheek as the dry husks curled and smoked beneath the darkening cape. And then he felt it.

He couldn't help but gasp as something was ripped out of him and upward into the sky. It didn't hurt. Not exactly. More like a slight tug followed by a weariness that he had become accustomed to in his lifetime. He was tired and weak and just wanted to go to bed.

Sighing, realizing that the ride was over, he looked up at the starry sky. Smoke blotted out most of the twinkling balls of gas, but a few were still visible as the wind rose and carried the smoke away from Black Rock.

Beside him, Sam stirred. "Nice of you to join us," Dean quipped.

Sam rolled over and pushed himself up into a kneeling position. "What happened?" he asked.

"You don't remember?"

Sammy shook his head. "No. Last thing I remember is being in dad's old locker. You put on this stupid cape, and then nothing. Where are we? Why do I smell like smoke." He looked at the burning cape. "Is that dad's old Halloween costume?"

"No," Dean replied sadly, "it's not. Um, there was a fire that broke out in the storage building. Turns out dad kept an old landmine in there. It blew."

"How'd we get out?"

Dean smirked. "You fainted. I had to carry your heavy ass out here."

"And why are you burning the cape?"

"That doesn't matter. What matters is that we're both safe and we're leaving town tomorrow."

"Why? What if-"

"You can't save me, Sam. Not without a price. So let's just pack up and head out. Take a vacation or something. I hear London's nice this time of year."

Sam struggled to his feet and gazed down at his brother, who was watching the fire fade as the cape disappeared. "Bad day, then, huh?"

"What?"

"Something big goes down, you try to forget by taking a break. Must have been a bad day at Black Rock for you to want to get out of town so quick."

"Yeah," Dean nodded, standing up and brushing himself off, "it kinda was." They headed back to the motel room. Dean thought it kind of odd that Sam didn't ask about the car, why they were walking all that way, but he was too tired to take much notice. He figured it could wait. After all, the kid had almost just been through Hell. Maybe he deserved a get-out-of-jail-free card.

Yeah, that was it.


	20. Epilogue: By Now You Should Have Somehow

This is it. The final chapter. I think you might be surprised. Sammy's a sneaky boy.

Well, thanks for reading, guys. I really appreciate the effort and al the reviews. They make me feel special!_

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_Epilogue_

_By Now You Should Have Somehow Realized What You've Got To Do_

"I have this idea," Sam said slowly, watching her stalk the room, pacing like a big cat, graceful and beautiful and dangerous. He hated the fact that he had called her, but he needed help. He needed to save his brother, and he'd finally figured out a way.

"Shoot," she said, her voice tired and disinterested. Maybe Dean was right. Maybe she couldn't be trusted. Maybe these things were all the same. But it was Sam's only shot.

He hated lying to his brother, hating hiding the fact that he remembered everything he had done while under the cape's influence. But it was for the best that Dean didn't know. After all, Dean _had_ tired to stop him, and that was back when the task _wouldn't_ have been life-threatening.

"The thing that holds the contract to Dean's soul," Sam explained, his eyes following her steps through the room that he'd rented for this specific reason, this meeting of the minds, "the crossroads demon said it was big and bad. I figure it's hanging out in a nice warm summer home down under. If I want to save my brother, I have to take out the demon, right?"

She stopped her pacing to consider it. "Yeah," she finally said, "so?"

"So, I figure that if I can get into Hell, I can find this thing and kill it. If I kill it, Dean will be free, right?"

She shrugged. "Sounds like a plan. How you gonna do it?"

"I'm going to kick down the doors of Hell- go back to Wyoming and bust into the fiery pit, you know? I'm gonna march right down in there and kill everything that I can find. Eventually, I'll get the right one."

She nodded slowly before going back to pacing, her hair flying out behind her as she walked. "All right." She stopped again, watching him with appraising eyes, trying to judge just how far he was willing to go. "What do you need me for?"

Sam hung his head and sighed. He hated asking her for help, allowing himself to fall deeper and deeper into her debt, but the plan couldn't fail. "I need help," he said, "I didn't think I would at first, but then things changed."

"Why not just ask Dean?"

"You know he won't put me in jeopardy. After all, me being dead is what got him into this in the first place."

"Well, what do you want me to do about it?"

He swallowed hard. "I need you to round up some of your friends. Tell them that I'll grant them immunity if they help me break into Hell."

"Helping demons now?" She asked, sitting down beside him on the bed. "Sam, I'm surprised."

"Just spread the word, all right?"

"I can't do that. Not sure if you heard that crossroads bitch, but I'm not held in especially high regard within the demonic community. Miss a couple of host-warming parties and they'll completely turn on you."

"So, what, I'm on my own here?"

She shook her head. "Silly Sammy. You're not alone."

"But I need help to do this."

"And you'll get it. You just need to realize one thing."

"What's that?" Sam asked finally turning to look at her, into pitiless black eyes that held all of the answers.

"It was never about you," she said softly, "you humans are all such egomaniacs. Just because a demon has plans for you, doesn't mean that you're the one he's after."

He narrowed his eyes. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Ruby giggled- actually _giggled_- and scooted uncomfortably close. She leaned up toward him until her lips were practically pressed to his ear. "Why do you think," she whispered, "Azazel left you his army?"

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Well, that's it. The end. Nice, huh? 

So, does anyone remember our little game? The one with the chapter titles? Just figured I'd post the song names here for you in case you were curious.

Prologue- Wonderwall by Oasis

1. Superman by Five For Fighting

2. Save Me by Remy Zero

3. Crank That by Soulja Boy Tell 'Em

4. Hero/Heroine by Boys Like Girls

5. Hero/Heroine by Boys Like Girls

6. Superman by Five For Fighting

7. Crank That by Soulja Boy Tell 'Em

8. Superman by Five For Fighting

9. Save Me by Remy Zero

10. Superman by Five For Fighting

11. What I've Done by Linkin Park

12. Kryptonite by Three Doors Down

13. What I've Done by Linkin Park

14. Save Me by Remy Zero

15. Hero/ Heroine by Boys Like Girls

16. Superman by Five For Fighting

17. Kryptonite by Three Doors Down

18. The Last Ten Years (Superman) by Kenny Rogers

Epilogue- Wonderwall by Oasis

Hope you enjoyed reading the story as much as I enjoyed writing it :)


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